Late autumn wind
Whispering friend
You speak to my heart
Again and again
At times with the strongest of gusts
Push to discuss
All the calendar days
Colored by her ways
Sunshine gold, sunset orange, and crimson
Love that ripened but so soon out of season
When suddenly her fingers loosened from mine
Her hand dropped heavy like fruit from a vine
Brown memories skitter and scrape across the street
They crunch to pieces beneath my feet
Like pages from some ancient book
I turn and take just one more look
Marking that place
Years try to erase
But the aroma of leaf decay
In a melancholy way
Is somehow pleasant in the bare-branched orchard
Where I stop at an empty wooden seat
Savor the taste of her kiss
Harvest apple sweet
Andrew Dabar