Professor
Imagine that:
a campus lit
in yellow compasses of light,
the stadium
in silhouette against a milky night,
lingering loves
on separate paths,
footfalls and whispers;
to my ear
no foreign cry or laugh.
I have known this,
all of this,
as fact,
have always known
such autumn
in the marrow of my bone,
leaves that skitter
across my shoes,
that swirl, the one or two
pressed against my chest and cheek.
Pass me
whispering parade,
turn to shadow
flicker, fade,
inconstant leaves
swallowed by
the night.
Year to year
and lamp to lamp,
beneath this halo
I make my stand.