the last leaves of autumn fell, <br />finding a grave in the imprint <br />of stranger's feet- <br />shallow as it was, they seemed content <br /> <br />the leaves look more like wings, <br />imaginary things <br />that carry with them, the first cold breath of winter <br /> <br />wind wrestled with the margins of a book <br />left outside the local coffee shop- <br />someone had forgotten it, maybe <br />they had no more use for it <br /> <br />to think about the nights <br />spent in the anguish of absence <br />when a book is the only sanctuary <br />in loneliness <br /> <br />this is the way <br />to make amends with shadows, <br />to offer a truce to the past <br /> <br />on some nights <br />the book we read <br />is the one we're writing <br />and memory and wind <br />aren't always so comforting<br /><br />Amberlee Carter<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/last-night-and-then-this-morning/
