November. Over the Hills

The clouds unroll us a diorama

of the world. They roil in the wind,

an argument that fractures ratchets.

Amidst the tumbles    the house shrugs,

wraps its jacket of shingles tighter

around our shoulders. We yearn

as we lean    jumbled together    to learn

directions to another world whirled,

unfurled from the moil of the clouds.