An Autumn Vision

An Autumn Vision

I had a vision

of you standing in

Central Park during

autumn and the leaves

were blowing around

you, wearing that jacket

I hated so much.

Your face

was censored like a victim

of a hidden camera show,

grey and white pixels

where your cheekbones use

to be, crosses where your eyes

resign and your voice was

underwater and put through

one of those modulation machines.

You took my hand

as the wind swirled

the foliage about and

caused the flaps of your

jacket open, exposing

your bare shins which

are plum and weathered.

I try to mutter something

about covering up but

the words spill out

among the reds and browns

and you nod to express

that all is well.

As you turn to walk

away, I try to grab your

face but my hand slips

through the abyss and

I come up with blood

on my sleeve.