It’s the finite nature
of the scene one reaches
to capture:
the rainfall steady
as a wristwatch
keeping time
at bay
a little longer,
the streetlights
double glazed
in the wet pavement
like ghosts of the past
and the piano jazz
dancing solo
from somewhere
secret down
the cobblestoned
street, almost
an afterthought
but drifting, suspended
in the foggy air
like regret
for the season
that passed you by
like a former lover
but there’s still time
if you hurry
the yellow light says
as it spills across
the steps
of the cafe
come in and sit
stay —
fall understands
loss is essential,
elemental–
but something
here is still
open
to you
if only for
a limited time.
