Seasons Of You

When I wake, your name

Is in every goosebump that

Rises against my skin in

The brisk morning chill.

You thought well of me once;

But writers—we are quite a 

A dysfunctional lot, and I never 

Could master the art of reading

You even as I wrote for you.

I was looking for you in the stars;

They were still out as I wrote this,

Watching Orion’s Belt strapped

Across the early wistful sky.

If forgiveness was autumn,

I’d fall for you all over again—

At your feet like a pile of leaves.

Every one of them is an admiration 

I hold you in my thoughts,

And you know I get lost

In a strong wind, it carry’s

You are away and I am lost again.

Since we met I have seen you

In every star and season:

Be snow if you must,

But please don’t freeze

From me forever.