Autumn, where’s my lost love?
I used to ask the leaves
as they were letters you wrote
with your pale fingers in the wind
-but I can’t read your alphabet.
The word we never said
has found me near Virginia Water
and I was happy then, in my old
pair of shoes.
It was the last day of January
written on your skin
like a cold whirl of light
the light of ending things
-the smell of winter
leaves us incomplete
and in its grasp I couldn’t find
the reason why my foreign name
sounds so confused on your lips.