Where Autumn Begins
While it is no secret we do,
like the leaves falling in summer’s end,
come to rest,
to land in grace,
to feel the earth meet our bodies,
much is said about the essence of time,
why we do the things,
they tell us not to do.
The ache in hearts lost in the forlorn
nature of time, a cyclical pattern
does welcome our own mystery,
when another’s eyes look upon the
quiet reality of who we might decide
we are to be in that perfect moment.
When I do begin to feel the loss,
so often it is my own undoing,
my quiet soul reaching out to hold
onto any aspect of her love,
if only to feel the presence of desire,
to know that I can be fantasy,
a quiet landing where love resides.
Where do I go she would like to know,
when all I can want is …
all I can ever wish to allow
is the space of time to hold our soul.