Autumn in Summer

Autumn in Summer 

I wake to find
a drop of blood
on my sheets
and no trace of you. 

I rush to your place.
Bricks radiating the day
warm my face
but your front door
is a cold back. 

Your blinds are up yet I can not see in. 

I leave notes
and pray like a Jew at the Wailing Wall. 

The notes fall and mix with swirling leaves
this autumn in summer. 

I scratch your name
on the verandah post
and lick it, tattooing my tongue. 

I smell the fragrance of your skin then realize it's mine
washed with the same soap. 

Footsteps approach. 

I crouch in the bushes. 

Even the cacti have shrivelled. 

No one appears. 

What of our children not yet born? 

Is remembering imagining? 

My bed is crumpled a snake's shed skin. 

Eva Collins