A Chance Meeting

A chance day opened a door
on the street, and you came out,
thin autumn sunlight faded
and trees choked a crimson shout.

We stood on a point of time
transfixed, the silence broke
with a sigh as slight as the life
of an empty joke.

A jet black beetle tunneled
the dusty space at our feet,
its ball of fluff like words
our mouths will not repeat.

We left red clover warmth
behind, and ahead of us snow.
You said, the birds are leaving
and soon the leaves will go.