yellow November arrives in fog
turning the trees to black and gray
skulls hang like frostbitten fruit
among leaves that are not there
among leaves already fallen
skulls sink into cold caliche
like lost tombstones
they mark the hard earth
outside I wait
and listen:
no birds at play
no wings to stir the air
no insects to sing us
through the night
no words
from you today
I have a heart
like Calvary
from this hill
you have turned away
I have a soul
still as Golgotha
from this hill
you have walked away
Note: This poem poem was previously published on page 56 of Jacob’s poetry collection The Prayer of the Mantis (Kelsay Books, 2025).