In the bitter
Scent of fall,
When the scraping
Down the hall
Of maple stars
Makes me wonder
Where you are.
I hope the years
Have been good to you.
And life has not
Dismayed you,
Or made you
Lose your fire.
I pray you see October
As a winter prelude,
Not mere remnants
Of desire…
The wine-stained dregs
Of lovers
We once were.