Forgive the autumn
traveler
as he catches glimpses
Recalls himself in a
song
or a beam of warm sun
and sometimes after
the first seven or
eight sips
thinks yes
This is it again
He remembers the
fruitiness
of vintage summers
honeyed air
that he’s not sure
really happened
or the salty kisses
of ocean flings
that didn’t for sure
It doesn’t matter
Memories are as
real as lies
So forgive this autumn
traveler
as I sit and stir wine
for stories
and fish love through
rays of light
