Forward, After

in October my favorite month 
there are more birds in the trees
than leaves & this coffee on my face
steam essence of a certain nut

makes me see you somewhere
alone & that squirrel carries 
cargo for months ahead & you
your memory is yellowed as moths

that circle the porch light when
it gets dark early here because early
here is later than you think & when
you think about it the light ebbs

the way your face grew dim & grave
on nights we drank too much
& felt too much desecrated the kitchen
floor & haunted bars to show off

one to the other your hand pushed
out toward the camera making love
with your shirt still on the branches
at the window bare because of winter

& its quiet light by spring we’d
had enough but not enough to drink
because the water we stood at 
edge of was deep enough to drown