Three attempts today. Cuz in November, we poem. Even when we don’t feel like it.
::
as if made of some ordinary magic
the sky’s a cauldron,
stirred,
shirred along the edges
by some dark star-spell.
We tell ourselves
we’ll go home soon,
but the moon
has other ideas.
::
as you wish
(cue the pirate-prince tumbling
down the hill)
,
upon all these fallen
stars,
this broken sky,
i hope that you will
remember:
i tried my tired best
to follow that punch-drunk sun,
but i
wasn’t quite as bright
as you were.
::
as she holds her breath before the next rain falls
,
she calls herself
something new.
scatters stars,
renames the moon.
::
Whimsygizmo's Blog 
And three special poems! Fun to find Westley’s “as you like” here. 😊
The title of this post is its own poem. The idea of inviting [a lowercase] November just floors me.
Other favorites:
“i tried my tired best
to follow that punch-drunk sun,”
“she calls herself” … with a transparent hot pink light-up phone, I hope