On Clark Street

When the leaves go yellow
and hills quit their green
when the stars shine brighter against a blacker sky
and the air smells blue
when the aster stands bright and purple
and the late crocus opens its white and pink petals
when the land rallies before it finally gives in to gray
is the time when the world stands still.

When the air is crisp
and the chill of September creeps in at the edges
when the city walks faster by us
and you wear that thin, brown scarf -
forgetting, as you do every year -
that it will do nothing to keep you warm
and I wonder if I will ever tire of this annual forgetfulness
is the time when the world stands still.

When my mind wanders too far down that line
and I'm somewhere away from you
when the breeze picks up again
and the city breaks its silence
when you slip your hand into mine
and clasp our fingers together
and we walk, as we are, looking forward
is the time when the world stands still.