Greyhound

If you had asked me

I would have waited forever.

But autumn is gone

Leaving only the taste of apples

The smell of rain

The sound of a piano on a Friday afternoon

Bookshelves that gather dust and whisper to me

Stories of impermanence

While you are not among these things.

Your voice does not reach out to me

Asking me to wait

Calling me to come back.

It visits me in dreams

Anguished and pleading

Begging me to let you go.