The best Fall I remember happened outside of Paris due
north near Chambord in November maybe October
when the Beaujolais Nouveau was released along with
me…I walked out
the door of the inn we stayed in
while you drank with our host.
I wandered following troughs of wet leaves marking
the crusades and the dark fall all yellow
smelling of dank and my life as an
obedient pathfinder Joan of Arc
wanting you to worry I was lost
yet knowing you never would.
Hours later I reluctantly returned just as I used
to at 8 and still no one noticed.
I think we made love that night
as we usually did but the bed was small, you
said, as you moved across the parquet floor
to the adjacent one
and closer to your children across the
Atlantic and I imagined
us leaving in the morning croissants uncurled
and me dressed in black because you said it was
best and before I knew it we were back in
California and you were married again
yet I was still outside of Paris in November
in 1996 longing for something I had felt
for a brief moment but never again.