buffeted by
            northerly winds
that lift the steam
            from my coffee,
drift it places
            I’ll never go,

I kneel beside
            autumn’s remains
of my summer
            moonflowers, their
white petals, once
            backlit by stars,

now dripping like
            candle wax on
weathered railroad
            ties framing and
taming their roots,
            their seeds scattered,

black, bare, wind-blown—
            dreams whisked away—
and know their loneliness