A cool August evening
words written on a letter
laid on the desk in
the study, lit dust collecting
on the windowsill. I laid
against the wall and exhaled, the
sun twisting with time
in my thought, a memory
of someone moving. The wood
breathed under step, the
contrast that comes by
twilight, the flood
lights on sycamore, the rooms
burdened by an empty sound,
suggestible autumn
on the trees beside the road
I stood at the hill side and
told you to come nearer
May these words
remove the weight