Tryst

the past was so warm;

i want to fall asleep

and

drown in it;

red leaves fall 

like tears 

and crunch underfoot

like baited heart attacks 

and i find myself 

day dreaming 

about the good of yonder year.

and though slowly

i realize

i can never go back

it's nice to pretend 

that a sodden and golden leaf

dipping gently into the clearing

can melt into the earth

and slowly grow back up on a tree;

back home in a sense

a deja vu.

it is not reliving the past

simply revisiting a cycle-

i would die if caught in that web.

so i must move on

with worn boots and knuckled fist

into the unknown rather trist.