LOST

TO P. R. C.

A dim October dusk, sipping

coffee from a thermos I walk

through the bleak

evening weaving night.

Liquid warmth to burn

a freezing flesh and chilled mind

forlornly thinking of you,

flown faraway and lost.

I have the falling dark,

I have the emptiness

left by your leaving,

torn fabric of the world

flapping in the breeze.

I have bitter coffee burning

in my mouth, something

to numb the thoughts

against the falling leaves and snow.

07.10.-10.12.2019