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| Frank Horvat |
Raquel and the boy are home from Arizona. It is only a matter of time before I begin to feel crowded again. I know this in advance. The last few days I was increasingly eager for them to return.
It is the way of certain things. We want what we dream we do not have. We tend towards longing. We lean again and again into dreaming.
The falling leaves
Drift by the window
The Autumn leaves
Of red and gold
I see your lips
The summer kisses
The sunburned hands
I used to hold
Since you went away
The days grow long
And soon I'll hear
Old winter's song
But I miss you most of all,
My Darling
When Autumn leaves
Start to fall
.
