Autumn

It feels like autumn came too soon, 

but only because I was so in love with summer.

And it was all very sun-dazzled, 

warm, 

and wistful. 

Like dreaming underwater.

Then the leaves begin to turn gold 

and the stars wear sweaters 

so they can stay out a little longer.

And I start to think, 

this could be love too.

And maybe people are the same way.

There are flowers that grow in autumn. 

And we are sitting outside, 

under afternoon sunlight 

falling through your eyelashes 

and I think I could love you.

There is a list of impossible things 

written on a leaf of a tree 

and it flutters into my hair, 

and I think perhaps I met you 

too soon or too late. 

Stuck in September I can't tell 

where summer ends and we stand. 

I think maybe on tilted planets 

there are handfuls of people 

we could fall in love with. 

A handful of heartstrings 

entwined in timing. 

You must be one of those people, 

and so is the boy playing his guitar 

in a small town coffee shop, 

the one running at a dog park, 

another halfway across the world 

waiting to catch a plane. 

We're all so close 

yet so far,

a little in love 

and a little out of reach.

— m.f. // Autumn