Wish for a Season

Today you said you would not sigh
for blood in the maples, for the flat
faces of sunflowers, the lonely cry
of a goose in flight, ignore the splat
of walnuts falling, the bared thorn
of haw trees, not think flowers were born
for frost to fade; and wish that I
turn back with you, retrace our path
to violet beds where we used to lie
before we heard time’s mocking laugh.