The coffee grows cold again this morning. I've forgotten it exists, lost in the brief escape where thoughts and words are colliding in a tenuous weave. The computer screen glows in the coming light. One moment words are a failed lift off, the next its outer space. Into the wormhole and time is bent into a different realm. What I am left with, the words assembled on the screen, is a mystery as to how they appeared and where time went.

The late autumn air

has cooled in quadrants

of forties and thirties.

The prairie trail is 

hollowed, a seawall of

brown stalks taller than

the average man. 

On the edge of the white beach I am alone near the sea grass tall and waving and dying. Again and again and again the shore laps in the hot wind. The sand here is powder. At times windswept leaving ripples across the wide plain into the gulf that is firming the firmed shore where walkers walk and runners run and bikes wheel with asphalt assurance.

This is the divide in the trail

where we go our separate ways

you into memory fully sprinting

coat shining chasing who knows what

into who knows where

and me still walking

into tomorrow where the leaves fall

and cover with snow