But it is raining and it is November, by Zoe Skoulding

One of my favourite poems, written by Zoe Skoulding, is set in Berlin, and every November the refrain dances anew in my head. The tone and setting conjure the feeling of inexorable rain, offset by dancing light of cars that glitter and gleam inthe gutters,offset bythe lights from shops and houses and the small beginnings of Christmas in the streets. I both love and loathe November, sometimes its the saddest and wettest season, but there are glimpses of beauty. So it is with thanks to Zoe Skoulding, I took the refrain as an opening line to find a way into tnis poem. The poem doesn’t work and I am ok with that as it is one I have been trying to write for a long time.

November again. 

And the light has been swallowed by winter 

setting in. 

That other November was 

orange when for three weeks

sunrise and sunset raged 

coppering the ice-bound mountains 

forging the end of 

one world.

By night

a cold moon silvered the landscape

so the ice danced and hovered like childhood glitter.

The sun mourned at 

dawn and dusk, 

smelted your death

on the landscape

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