Fall

For the last Friday we lost to a quirk of the Justinian calender and a long-winding drive to the moutains and down again. Home again. 'Time is nowhere.'

Fall

A secret

Can you keep it

To a whisper –

‘Here, sir’

Your warm breath

Climbs the window pane

As if a sudden mountain

Sprung from blizzard mist

You kiss as the breeze tugs the leaves

From the oak tree perched

Askew to the brokedown fence

Timber hollowed termite suburbs

Shrouded in red-yellow oak leaf

Teasing now. Oh it’s Autumn. March.

Fall.

Fall for me.

A secret

This private undoing and losing

Of ourselves

No explosions.

No forgettable blasts.

We shiver in deepening dusk

A suggestion of breeze

The first fall of leaves

In evening.