Tell Me I Can Stay

tell me I cannot drink the air; 

yet the smoke on the horizon curls like a finger, 

inviting me to taste February in the wind 

and know time is running out 

for the asters         but the pumpkins swell like the sun. 

tell me I cannot smell the trees; 

yet the edges of the sepia photo of the world 

blur as the apple pies crisp in the ovens 

and the trees beckon, painted yellow with your childhood pastels 

perfumed with death and autumnal longing. 

tell me I cannot touch the colors; 

yet my finger is trailing along the tiny sky in the sidewalk, 

making the lavender breeze rustle the branches 

where the acorns drop and release the stale peppermint breath 

you've been holding since January, since we knew that 

this was coming. 

tell me I cannot stay here forever; 

yet the answers are clearer than ever before 

and the lake is brushed with watercolors with the dawning sun 

and the realization that                                yes 

yes I can stay here forever 

stay in the autumn sun forever 

with me.