free writing, early morning, fall

in the water of this dream my body was
 making its way valiantly, my dreams of the past
so transparent dead-ended open-eyed,
 i try to corral them into a clearing where untangled
 sunshine welcomes us the same, then you called me.

before i open my eyes i know
in montreal i would be walking home
from the night shift, a real home we built
from the scratch of our lonelinesses, the drooping plants,
the shelves rescued from the streets. there's me, i walk
clutching the cellphone, smiling, half my heart
reaching to someplace distant, invisible. there's
a bakery across the street, and after midnight
the smell of fresh apple pie is concrete.

you are driving on the road of our old commute
you love the driving part but you crowd it up
with calling me, because in the life you've fashioned unfair
there's little time for savouring grace. you are
passing the woods i remember well, you explained how their
beauty in the fall meant decay, the vivid colors a scream,
an extreme with no revival forthcoming. now as then i think
you've become haunted by these things, and calling me
is what you know to do.

i step into my balcony, the sight of empty
sidewalks, grey everything, the lamps dimmed, air catching
my answers, my voice too eagerly inflected
with breathy detail - then suddenly my day is done. nothing
in the clearer hours to come will bring me closer at once
to all i lost that wasn't mine.