Autumn's Other Half

You follow me
in your jacket of mist;
tall as a tree or street lamp.
Your hand carries
the wind’s letter scented
                            with rain and light smoke.

I want to turn around
and embrace this other side of you –

the lover haunted

by wet cobblestones, twigs scattered

like burnt matchsticks

that once ignited a courtyard

                                   (leaf -golden)

and fountain water –- so cold, clear

it echoes what we see

and failed to perceive.