Mynddaeg, for Sarah

The turn of a year. It goes.
The mindful day. It reflects.
The middle of October

Holds a candle for my love,
Lights weird lanterns on clear nights,
Anticipates everything

Adults wrap in gauze costumes,
Morning fogs and smoky fires
To confuse true beginning

With what we pretend to end.
In a fortnight, childhood goes
Abroad as a prankish ghost.

Scarce days ago, the orchard
Gorged itself on sun and gourds
Swelled green bellies on the ground.

Here is neither here nor there
But when we choose to recall
We are what could not have been.