forlorn

as I stand ankle deep in

memories

thoughts of her

and leaves-

well,

these leaves in autumn tell the story best:

it’s hard to look away.

 

what once seemed inseparable

-mother nature doing her best Cupid-

lacing together life and love and

little buds of hope when

one afternoon everything shifts

and all at once

what is and what was

glimmer

with shades never before held in the original incarnation.

 

nature doesn’t fuck around.

 

that brilliantine slick,

glossy overtone we humans all  assign

to hopped up feelings for one another-

those rose colored glasses we grasp at, mostly in vain

created, glorified, or not…

pale, with a single glance

down a tree lined street

in late October.

 

the way she feels in my arms at any given moment

can seldom equate to the beauty of

remembering

the warmth of her breath

the chill of her toes,

the ease of her voice as it rustles through my brain-

of course,

how can bathing oneself in the fullness of sun soaked summer leaves,

relaxing in the shade of their promise,

even begin to compare to the

gentle glow of

orange

and yellow

and

red

as the promise becomes forsaken and

the moment draws to a close?

 

So as the memory burns through me while I

gather what remains of the beauty on the ground around me

and set it aflame

– hoping to

find the right word that will

draw her in again-

I find solace,

camaraderie even

in the skeletal arms ever outstretched

lining the streets until

love returns again.