November Poem by Dillon Cranston

I did not know
that the street was so brown
until I saw it today
nor could I tell
how important were leaves
until they all fell away

I have never felt
quite so old as I did
this morning, before the sun
I did not even smile
as I walked with the needles,
stepping on every last one

I've been making my art
in the fog on this glass,
it stays for a moment or two
though this city is not one for color
I have discovered
a new shade of blue

I cannot stomach
the taste of old coffee
my fault, for making it last
nor can I bear
the feeling of being
as high and dry as the grass

I wish that the rain
would make up its mind
not linger up there in the gray
I wish that I knew
how to tune the piano
it is flat since you've been away