Intense Autumn

AN INTENSE AUTUMN


Once driftwood was burned
by puddles.
We watched the red reflection
on the water's surface,
saw our faces burning.
You went to California
when the moon halfed its fullness.
I stayed, gazed
at flat expanses of white sand.
I imagined your clawing at windows
where all the windows were nailed closed.
I think of the deserts you crossed
where the air was enriched
with the sounds of coyotes' howling at the moons
you wanted to slip into your pockets.
Now, the plum tree your arm circled
sends out again whiteness
down its hips and ankles
to entice blue and yellow warblers,
but no slender arms embrace its rough bark
glowing with whiteness accented by moonlight.
I do know what happened
after we with our heads on a fallen palm
drank champagne together.
Your blonde hair was turned to snow by moonlight.
I have grown accustomed
to the change of seasons,
remember when I thought I loved in August
and loved the red spots
on the falling, quickly wilting leaves.


Duane Locke

Posted over on American Poetry Review