Footprints

We were seamless in a summer's trance

But I eventually succumbed to autumn's hands

 So astonished by the growth

in our photographs

that with laughter set on white so white

  Snow-white

 that I now cry

 

"Why?"

Does my blood flow more freely when I'm cold?

Do these leaves gathered briefly never hold?

Even through a thousand flights

so sure my grip I assured would be

Where my will was buried

 I fell adrift

It costs me now to carry the closure

a foregone loss in the midst of it