Take one last walk with me.
Of all I’ve lost,
what I miss the most
are your fingers.
On that Autumn day,
nested in my hair,
pulling me in.
From coffee notes and bitter air.
But Autumn gives over to Winter,
To Spring, to Summer.
And when she returns,
we are seasons apart.
The thread between us so delicate,
wind that catches on the trees
can quietly take what remained.
Your fingers too,
have taken flight,
in search of a warmer home.
Unable, unwilling to hold on.
As I stay rooted here,
amongst the falling leaves.