October Love
October 24, 1994
I watched a swan
flying across the pale river
curve and disappear
among the dead trees.
The sadness of its going
was like the thought
of life without you.
I mourned for the swan
whose last sweep of white wing
came like the wave of your hand
and was gone.
The season waits. October
love can't crack.
At last across the space between us you write
the lost words....
Without warning
the dead trees leaf,
the swan sweeps back.