“Already November”

By Paul Jenkins

Already November,
and regrets for August beaches linger.
Perishable, we yet know no better
than to crave permanence,
as if we deserve endless
attempts to finally get it right.
But all we’re granted, of course,
is repetition, and even then
consistency is rare.
But I’m in luck,
for in those eyes,
every month,
I see goodwill,
an affinity for others,
on continual display,
pulsed waves at ocean’s edge
roaring in, rushing back,
roaring in, rushing back.
Her blue eyes buoy me
every morning,
even in November.