Three

Written by: Spenser Jones

Like a magic lantern lit against the curtain
of my quivering eyes, I return to the night
when autumn was sweet to us, and shut out
the rising tide of winter so that we could pretend
we had fallen into a second spring,
where trees did not bloom but turned to fire
and the rains were gentle kisses from the sky
and we could see our breaths, but we never felt
we needed more protection than a jacket meant
for summer nights, and the occasional embrace
from someone who wanted you beside them.