At the first signs of frost
the geese arrowed south.
You left footprints in the dew
of a garden filled with webs
suddenly visible in morning mist.
I linger in our house
beside the book you were reading,
its pages yellowing into new season
but never turning.
Original
At which precise moment did you know
the lake birds had left for the south?
that winter was too rough for you,
who dress in autumn’s beaten hues?
That morning you fled through dew;
stranded me among suddenly visible
phrases strung like webs abandoned
by evening’s chill tide.
Now, I linger
beside the book you were reading,
its pages yellowing into new season
but never turning.