unfinished

Love like autumn leaves 
drifting on the 
rivers of our lives -  
squandered in many cities,
scattered in a hundred gardens
from country homes to 
backstreet dives. 

We will meet again eventually though,
we surely will, 
you and I,
in the dust or in the clouds 
or in the wind or in the rain 
that taps upon 
your window pane. 

Perhaps we will find each other 
in the stillness of the woods
when life has once again begun
among the silent fallen trees 
and the green ferns with their tendrils 
waiting quietly 
for the sun.