November floating

Late afternoons in November
have me noticing
all the things I missed,
the dust growing like grey shadows
on the piano keys,
the dark circles from glasses of lemonade
standing out on the wood
I now trace in the 5:00 darkness,
the glitter reflecting occasionally 
in my hairline.
The words of the songs I used to love
now fade as the waves glide over them.
The summer memories of hot ice cream
dripping in the sand
and seagulls riding the salted wind
now sting like migraines when they return
and the things we said in August
echo back to us in November
with new meanings
and new names
and the lotteries I didn't win
are fraying red papers in short pockets
and the summer blush
rubs off on my mask
and confusion sets in
when the sunset flares too early
because if
October is a lifegaurd
then
November leaves us floating
looking for the snowflakes.