The day before she left was a little chilly
a tinge of bite in the air, nary a cloud but
wind that warily whirled around buildings
and through my hair while my eyes shuddered
to avoid the sand lifted from the scattered pavement.
The day she left was sunny at times
the clouds coming going rising falling
the warmth was there but couldn't feel it
and the scratch of tires the fall of leaves
didn't mask the dropping mercury inside and out.
The day after is cold, the sky is dark
the faded, burned-out yellow of the sun no more
The lenses of windows and cars and glasses
reflect the empty sky and the cold coming of winter
that's already risen and arrived far too soon.
Tomorrow is another day.
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