fall has not come to the north yet;
but in the very next breath
fall came and sister winter with him.
cold rain and sunday's
national public radio show.
dressed up in sweats and silently
sitting and thinking about the
holidays coming. soup on the stove
for to soothe the broken heart
and empty shell of bones keeping
this body together; the weather.
rain water runs down the plane glass of
my window where nearby my neighbors
tree thrashes violently from winter's
wind come to us so suddenly.
the pain of becoming more and more
who you are; and without anyone's
help which is something to be thankful
for but not yet; not yet.
forming shapes out of the air and
opinions from my hair. and lonely
is absurd to dream of the forgotten
world, hands holdin' in greece and
the peace you find from alone in
your bed, the texture of a plaster
wall with postcards and ticket stubs
and notes from old friends, your
value forgotten again and
physical touch, the ache of an
absence relaxes us. fluttering
eyelids that long for sleep to
last too long so that months may
go by a little faster and rapture
once more when i hold you in
my arms again.