Ice Cream

October 24, 2002--Revised

Dissolving over the edges,
the past melts away.
Sky blue eyes search
for her, the flaxen haired
girl of summer.
Nineteen leaves have fallen
as I have deepened
into the dark, short
reflection of autumn’s mirror.
Can you still see me?
I look down,
away, afraid
I have disappeared to you.
The wind moves
softly as the air
turns your touch colder,
and somehow I know
—winter is coming.
I open the letter you
wrote to her, the golden
her of days gone by.
Memories of white liquid
seas and laughter have
been long since quieted,
have been long since hidden.
God’s Alaskan hands, old
and tired rest weary
on my head, words
from heaven descend
with the promise of miracles.
I stare at her, this daughter
of autumn, this portrait of a stranger.
She sees through my eyes,
my soul,
the soul of hot days
and blazing suns, the soul of
deep rock canyons where
we sat—eyes closed, as the
night winds slid, illicit
across my face.