And now we come to the part of autumn
which is more fell than falling.
It’s hard to not miss the gold,
just as it’s hard to not miss the lips
of your lover when he’s gone.
You tell yourself that absence
makes the heart grow. Your self
is not impressed. You tell yourself
that the absence
is beautiful. But absence today is
absence—an inability to be present,
and your thoughts are anywhere
but here—in fact, they have gone to one
specific anywhere where it’s still
gold and warm and the heart
is so full it can’t hear a word anyone says
in an attempt to warn it
about how things change.