Was it it just yesterday

when you snuck through my window

seeping warmth on a frail Winter’s day?

A beaming sun, you smiled just for me,

until I mellowed like Cabernet Sauvignon.

 

Now I see the leaves begin to wrinkle,

spots of old age confuse the image I have

of your smooth gentle strokes,

when you loved with abandon and abundance.

Which season is this? I fear I forget.

 

You’ve long disappeared behind grey haired clouds.

Your failing eyesight can no longer trace my face.

A melancholic withering light is all that I see

as seasons change guard right in front of me.

I close the curtains of my window, once bare.

 

A gust of wind steals into my room. Your ghost

now brings an artificial light. Yet still I remember

steamy hot Summer kisses with the promise of

soaking wet rain as its fragrance hovered in the air,

days when your light won the race against time

and your hours and minutes were mine.

 

But now I’m no longer so sure about my memory.

The seasons changed while I was lost in my reverie.