several days a month you made 

the mile to my house, 

and had me do a stroll with you. 



far below a furry moon 

our purposes crossed 

the weird divide 

between our kinds 



the silver leaves of ailing trees 

took flights as we passed so long ago 

but a short time i know. 



it pleases me this memory 

has swollen up with age. 

even time can do 

good things to you.