It's the ocean, I think
that calls me.
So, I lament over the waves,
tides that I don't yet understand
and the beach where we could have made love
though we didn't,
and it was the beginning
and the end to everything.

Your voice is here.
I can hear the distance in it
and my bed is filled with empty space.

It's the autumn that calls me
where death seems in time.

Filled with apples and swirls of snow that dance with leaves
It all seems so natural,
somehow stuffed with life.
So significant though;
The very art of dying.

I'd marry you, if you'd let me
under those canopies of peach and red
barefoot, with tree paper flames
and appleblossoms pinned to my head.

I'd carry acorns
wish on every one.
I'd kiss you every time it rained,
with the unearthly pour of water
gauzing through the yellow light
of our low autumn streetlamps.