September

It turned out to be a day just like this one--

The sky that impossible September blue,

And the summer growing sleepy, as if June, July and August had been a long luxurious meal.

That morning,

You lay your clothes carefully on the wet grass of the bank,

Like a blanket over a sleeping child.

As you stepped into water and fog,

What was it you hoped to find as the chill found your ankles, your knees, your shoulders?

Why didn't I wake up?

Why didn't you come find me, and crawl in beside me, still wearing your chains and charms from the night before?

How could I not have been there when the water fanned your hair?

I could not help and will never understand.

Each year I watch the water darken these poems as I sail them across this accommodating element

To one whose heart has always been

And will always be

Twin to my own.

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