words

can you feel the summer  
bleeding out
in fallen pink ladies
sweetened on the ground
and the sunny wounds
of barren  
five starred receptacles
those green reminders
of dropped blooms
tougher than a frost
do they miss the color?
if a rose could speak
in September  
would  
it pause and break  
as I do in this distance
seasons have no mercy
come to me burning
on my skin
as an icy brine would-
make fossils of dim ideas
that grew and bound these limbs
from touching what they wanted
if I came to you now
as I did
last November  
could we
find that place again
or do these hands
with missing petals
wait patiently
for the first snow
who are we  
in this transparency
of thinner skins and shorter days
I want so much to know