A canvas
Bright with paint,
But the colours
Run and mar,
Blurred by autumn rain.
A red smear
Of taillights
In the road's wet tar,
And the silence
Of our walk
On busy streets marred.
We walked the path
To the tiny pub—
Walked out and back
Through glass trees
And shrubs;
Came to the road
Where we agreed
To part,
Yet I wanted to keep you
If only in my art.
To rescue the moment
Knowing time was brief
Press you into pages
As a tiny perfect leaf,
So you’d last
Through the ages
Your face
In bright relief
Beyond the frailty
Of time and memory.