The love of many things

On these orange boulevards at noon

The wind, the sun, oh they’re painting portraits!

A certain cold peace, in all that’s here

And a cheerful song of forgotten days

Winter is destined with a silence I sing

A story that’s later, irrelevant, outlived

But for now the fall glows, endures

Like drowsy spells, on what’s left to forgive

I carry a year, a love of many things

Influenced, real, slow and sure

I carry a choice, A notion on my wings

Like red leaves falling in a golden allure.

-Al