falling

that first hush of cool air falls over my skin 

and i’m falling again 

if nostalgia were a tree— 

this one is orange and red and bare in places where the leaves 

have no desire to cling anymore 

(i don’t miss you like i did before) 

all of it comes in slow 

i hardly noticed the temperature lower itself 

ten degrees last night while i was sleeping 

and there you are, again, in my memory 

rotating with the seasons 

and for all that the sun melted away, 

this is still frozen here: 

i remember

making three miles out of three blocks, 

leaves catching fire around us 

the beginning of their ending