A Dark Lilac November Sky

Old man,bending over, arched like a fallen moon in a dark lilac November sky. joy and pain wrestle my heart across the emptiness and toss it up like a damp rocket to fall in a hidden corner where mice live. Would that not be a good ending,to be dust to these little creatures nesting in my chewed green twine and my tartan basket? They have eyes and shiver in my hand when I rescue them from the cat… as any heart might. Now night falls on the newspaper basket where the damp Times and the Guardian mix into glue and tomorrow the sun will rise and it will just be the garbage with no poetic undertones nor deathly hushes.. Heather and a silver light you stand on a hill top like a god looking over his domain. Strong and now weak it’s the humane condition Everlasting life is too dangerous for humans. Silent,motionless,home of beetles bit by bit we fall away into the mother soil with cracked jugs and dropped coins for a future academic to dig into. Transparent hand touches me. Whose might it be but yours?