Little flowers

November is making me restless.

Little flowers of evenings past

sit quietly in my lap.

I'd love to talk about

forget~ me ~ knots and red threads

and lips stained with raspberry kisses.

Where went the Autumn of that

frosty morning

and  one brilliant Japanese sun?

I watched those winter white fields through

the window of the bus,

my breath on the air .

You have never left me,

dear.