The sadness of fall,
at the height of summer...
It's been a wet season.
The rain gathers on my windowsill once more
and fog rolls through the garden
finds its way to my skin.

A startled crane lifts
Indentured solitude.
My companion leaves.

Lacking depth,
the water, my eyes,
lap at the pebbled shore.
I turn away.
My name has been called- "wait, I am coming!"
But no;
It's only the wind.