Autumn

 
There’s so much left unsaid.
Raking maple leaves, I remember
 
how we stood in the orchard— 
the peach you picked bruising
 
in your sudden clench of fist,
how your freckling face fell,
 
our love collapsed. My love,
if I could have kept us
 
from unraveling, I would have— 
memories unstitching, lips
 
unmouthing the heat of a neck.
Once, you were my making
 
and unmaking. And now,
my sweet, my bittersweet,
 
I’m still unloving you. I’m still
unkissing your lips, still daydreaming
 
of you as I stand in our hometown,
in a pile of crunching leaves.
 
I’m still unleaving.