To my friend

Caressing glimpses of thoughts
scanning the words
images of the vain busy days
and low quiet echoes
of a heartbeat in the twilight of the empty rooms
golden evenings
floors like honey
conversations
about the most sacred
and the most mundane
are left behind somewhere
the overwhelming
separation
in the physical space
rolled with the red apples
from one coast to the other
fell with a wall
of the bright autumn leaves
eclipsing the other time.
And only the moon,
the all-knowing crone
shed her pale light
on my secret path
to the new house.