Autumn Dogs

Fall equinox has passed and the tilt of the earth is now beginning to move away from the face of the sun.
The trees have noticed and started to shed; red and yellow leaves are plastered to the asphalt and pavement.
A dappled mournful beauty beneath us and a thinning canopy above us. 

Dying into winter can still be beautiful.
 
The morning dawns later and the night curtains earlier. This will continue until just before Christmas when we swing a quarter turn more on our orbit.
Temperatures are cooler and rain on the tin roof sounds like a distant applause.
The dog walks that bracket my days are now in wet darkness. We move like limp ghosts between pools of streetlights, at least one of us smelling of wet dog. He thinks that it’s me.
 
Once home we will drip in the sunless front sunroom and partially dry the weather off us.
His bed on the floor will hold the comforting scent of a warm wet dog.
 
And I will shed until I stand naked to lean and turn under a hot shower, glistening in artificial light. 

The autumn of my life can still be beautiful too.

Day and Night

To The Lady on the Train, 

So you know, the sun and the moon and the stars all shine their light just so that they can see you. 

The Man in the Station

Summer Night

The air lay hot and heavy on the city; a late summer night that stills. The kind of night where dogs and people are restless and lazy. Sleep will not be easy and familiar noises sound strange. The barking of a dog and the mournful whistle of a train roll in through the open window above my bed. It was a night of memories, dreams and sweat.
 
I was dreaming about a woman that I know and to whom my heart still belongs. I was dreaming about the times when we made love, when we gave ourselves freely and held nothing back. I was dreaming of my fingers trailing across freckled shoulders, soft and strong.
 
And I was dreaming of the press of a hardened nipple and soft breast in the palm of my hand. I was dreaming of the widening of eyes and the pulling by her calves as I entered her. And it is here were I drift between sleep and awake and I can no longer tell if I am dreaming or remembering.
 
And between cold sweat and damp sheets I am haunted by her beauty and the best and worst decisions of my life. I can almost feel her body next to mine and the scent of her filling me. I can feel the rumble of distant thunder and the ache of not holding her now.