untitled #2

These twisted streets
That meander through Autumn
Echo with the footfalls
Of men long passed.
these boughs that sweep overhead
A crackle against the stormy sky
look down, weeping.
The place where you last saw that face
Still possesses a faint outline,
A blur on the tree trunks,
A whisper in the fluttering leaves
That reminds you
What is lost.