when numbs the autumn wind
I panic, dear
and see the changing light
of pastures and riven houses

solitude meets me yet again
moments change
I change, I without nerve
who once might have onward leapt

but you, entranced
you, who cannot ever be patient
ever longing to meet
now, as in our first garden

flowers, sunbeams, trees
nourished by light and passion
once housed in exaltation
now inert in landlocked slumber

they became an unchanging place
that fits not so easily these days
where time, in its patient receptacle
learns to wait