everything is damp here, and
where the dying leaves settle
the path is slick on old
stone sidewalks cobbled;
a reminder of a day past.
happiness as two steps
at a time were taken
landing, sliding,
skinning palms and knees
through jeans ripped
stained bloody;
portent of a marriage
ending and a heart
never quite mending.
in winter, the dying
leaves of autumn rot,
not just here, but there
where I existed too long.
