In which Autumn did the moon come,
and did you kiss her pale cheek?
What dry-leaf scented breeze
filled your head with her perfume?
What night-whispers teased your ears,
while you considered slipping
from your shoes to press your
bare feet against the still,
warm comfort of the earth?
Which stars shimmered, white
just out of your periphery,
blinked in and out to catch
your attention and then
bid you to patiently wait?
Did you tip back your sleepy head?
Did you inhale the shadows?
Did anticipation tingle as it settled
in the space between your shoulders?
Did the clouds slowly drift,
like the cream in your coffee?
Which number did you see on that
late-October calendar page?
What hour of the night ticked by
on the solemn mantle clock?
And when she slipped from between
blankets on her cloud pillowed bed,
leaned in closer to offer you a smile,
Did you raise your arms in welcome?
Did you invite her then to dance?
Pen's Ink 