time will not stand still-
autumn has deepened
across the Ozarks ridge

and you are not here

you could be in Tuscany
for all I know
flirting with the grandmothers
with your beautiful blue eyes
(those eyes)
and smiling at the children
playing in the piazza
as you drink espresso
and trade lies
with the young men
I can see the warm Italian sun
against your silver mane
so handsome and at ease
strolling up the cobblestone path
with golden sunflowers
and a good bottle of red

and I-
I walk my cloistered walk
alone in our empty room
I will trade our bed for the narrow cot
of a nun
and cast my longings into prayers
and rosaries

but you are not in Italy
I know
you are working long days
in the high lonesome desert of west Texas
where the autumn stars are out
as you lie in your own monks cot
calling home
to say good night