Tue, 18 Sep 2018
Come to me October,
With your dawn mists and low, heavy boughs.
I will thrill to your chill.
I will sing at your silence.
And when November's icy fingers claw at your skeletal bones
I will remember that east side diner.
Where you picked at chicken and I drank wormwood.
And we laughed like happy children,
Till the cab arrived for JFK.
And we cried at the gate
In remembrance of times lost.