Like a penny in mid-toss,
the weather spun, unsettled.
Earlier I watched a bank of cloud
build up and churn like an angry sea
against an invisible barrier protecting blue skies.
I had thought the line would hold,
but in the night it shattered,
falling into a thousand skirmishes
that could only signal the slaughter of fair weather.
A day of change,
an omen signalling the beginning of an autumn.

In the spring we sat upon a park bench
under floating fragments of pink cherry blossom.
You cried, and I kissed the tears that fell
from the corners of your eyes,
to hold their salt forever.

That was a different season from this,
a different park bench and
without the black skinned cherry tree.
We nearly finished the crossword
as leaves fell about us in gusts
of yellow and brown, dry and empty.
I tried to collect seeds from flowers,
and failed to find their pods before you said
“We need to talk.”

I could not shout, though that is what you wanted;
how could I hate you?
You cried, but this time I could not kiss those tears –
it was no longer my place,
and at that I, too, began to cry,
to release your sorrow, free you,
and accept the coming winter.