Autumn
(more fittingly,
a little ironically,
named fall)
never fails to
wisp in my regrets

regrets of adventures-to-be
crunching beneath my feet

regrets of abandoned lake shore
freezing my summer-boiled blood

regrets of never-lit bon fires
filling my nostrills with smoke

each Autumn
my sighs tumble
one
by
one
from painted lips
traveling north

eyes searching the rearview.