The red and black patched knit scarf
came out of the box marked Autumn today.
Wrapped tightly round my nose and mouth
the wind could not bite my
still pinchably cute smile
if you could've seen it
from across the platform at the McDonald St "el".
The lushly woven thing still smells
like the finished wood floors of the old apartment
and the fire places in the mansions upwind
on the other side of the parkway.
The wind shows its teeth again and tries its best
to pluck every hair from my eyebrows,
but I don't mind it.
The scarf and I
we know that somewhere
a flame is bounding up and down
along a length of speckled wood,
saying the right words
in the pop and snap of warm lips
to an audience of
your resting eyes.
