in autumn

[busker]

In autumn

Somewhere, you
are hailing a taxi,
catching a bus.
It’s eight in the morning,
and the splintered sunlight
from fiftieth storey
windows is falling on your light brown hair.

Somewhere, above
you, red maple branches
dissolve into
the wind, whose hoary
fingers are darting,
playfully parting
the leaf battered locks
of your light brown hair.

Dreamy and a little hesitant, I hear thoughts of a loved one restrained by knowing it would be bad to obsess, wrong to intrude.  But can't help it.  Enjoyable, a bit flashy in a good way.

thanks, duke.
it was a bit of a struggle to find an S2 to close out the S1, and the result is a bit of a compromise, but such is life.