She is bright as the sunlight,
eyes that might hold it all inside
and twist these troubled times around.
"She has finally been found!" we scream.

What better day than eight eight eight
could we have chosen as the date
for locking hands and eyes and lips
and throwing everything amiss
out of the way?

This is leaves falling,
trees yellowing,
cool weather clothes
and no more remorse;

just hatched chicks,
red-eyed ticks,
chances everywhere,
love in the air.

This is fall of all seasons
and I've been given reasons
to start the lonely bomb again
and wait for love to put an end
to that.

Love can always, always put an end to that.