October Heights
For Carl
The autumn sweeps across Vermont again
As flame-shaped hills define the distant days.
Once more I live in exile–and the pain
Of frosted air and leaves and dawns of haze
Creates the landscape of my memories.
There will not be another morning, friend,
When we go out to climb through mountain trees,
Then see a pheasant cock as we descend.
There will not be an evening when the chill
Of early darkness settles on the lawn
And when we drink mulled apple cider till
The singing night is old and stars are gone.
The hues of fall sweep through my mind today
Because Vermont and you are far away.