with autumn but
a memory

on winter’s
voice

i hear you in
its rasp,

and still feel you
in its frigid
grasp

as heartbeats
slow,

with springtime but
a reverie

i draw you from
from our
past,

to free those shivering
leaves from
heaps of
snow.

you took to the
winter

just like your
mother

and buried that
face in its
chest,

while i watched
in envy

from warm side of
the window

where my cheek remains
pressed.