Autumn arrived clothed in whiskey and wind
that dressed the ground in leaves it lifted
from the old oak trees.  In the crisp air

you traced the outlines of their branches
to give their loss meaning, you said
as I considered the weight of the golden leaf

I was twirling absent-mindedly
between two fingertips. Then in October
we became thieves like the harvest

breeze, surreptitiously stealing glances
and words and then, feeling brave, kisses.
Under the gray afternoon sky

you fashioned a map out of fallen leaves
to give their death purpose, you said
as I tread lightly over their surface, now

brittle and brown. Then in autumn's quiet
valediction came the swift invasion
of winter, who cloaked our leaves

in a blanket of snow, robbing us
of the delicate guidance of that
which we had come to know as beauty.