By Jenny Andrews
Cool rain-filled wind,
skips along leaves strewn paths.
White roses swirl in the afternoon breeze,
rose scent saturates this mid-October day.
Red rose petals scatter among the brown and yellow leaves decay.
and that revived memory of that man I once loved
in a season saturated in autumn cold.
A day in a garden in a far-away thought,
sunlight slips through a decaying tree branch
water stagnates, deflects
the world of warmth could not penetrate the dying sunlight,
the cold brown earth.
My lover stood adrift
on that littered bluff of that far off memory
among twigs and driftwood.
I accepted his receding from me.
I seceded like a defeated army.
far too deep to ever heal in this life
from mere words.
“Sorry” soundlessly filled up the gathering distance between us.
Decades have done little to dispatch the pain of our parting.
With each October chill,
he, my lover, returns with those sad dark eyes
just long enough to remind me of all that we both lost.
The rose scented breeze
and the dying garden