October Was Made For Remembering

It's a chilly night in New York City, and there's a cold foggy moon throwing blue-white shadows on the concrete and the fences, on the wrought iron and the stone. The streets are blowing with dead brown leaves, dry black dust, and all the memories that October carries in the pockets of her apron. Down on the beach the waves are breaking on sand that's already forgotten what human footprints feel like, and the humans are busy looking at the cold white stars, wondering which ones spell out their names....