Dusk carpets the street
like a halo.
Fallen rolling leaves
are a traveler who
has reached the end.

He embroiders
the pain of life
in scarlet.

He searches
the lonely port

and gets aboard
the old
wooden vessel.

Clouds float upon
the cold river;
the wind blows;
time passes.

Looking at the tree’s
limbs falling away,
he spies its slightly
curved back.

Moonlight flows.
tears fall,
memories ache.