Mornings tend to be gray in fall
But we conversed in colors, some of them in warmth,
Like a collection of words that bore spring-time, once.
You proved my heart a weather-vane, capable
Of recognizing direction, assessing heaviness,
Separating distractions in the air.
It caught care and let weave through it
The unpredictable-ness of emotion,
In the tangled mess of your drowning, it breathed
As it had to, as it needed; never helped.
In the colors of our letters, weathers bathe
The words almost gasping, as if biting wind
In the fluent blither of our myriad thoughts
Expressed too soon, that we choke.
And when we choked, we choked in color, too,
But should we have let love bloom, in such muted hues?
The backdrop cold in the gray intercept,
Freezing eager half-smiles in the fading paint.
Yet, you proved my heart a weather-vane,
Left as weathered, as stricken by your hands.
You were gone eventually, but I’m still here:
And after years and years I still stand.
Mornings tend to be bright in spring
But we conversed in colors, some of them cold,
Like a collection of words that brought winter, once.
— A. P.