Come home with me.

He folds her hand under his like the surf of Lake Michigan
tosses and rolls a stone.
Softly eroding her knuckles.

Come home with me.

No, no. Not tonight.

Late afternoon in autumn
and light is at its finest.
The trees, half naked, vibrate like tuning forks.

I’m going away. Please come home with me.

You’ll come back, won’t you?

Scarlet leaves trellised as newly spilt blood
and the grass contorts like the silvery backs
of salmon writhing in spring.

I’ll be changed. You’ll be so much a different person.

It’s no different than all those days you pass me silently in the street.

A heron the sumptuous blue of rotting flesh
soars gracefully from nowhere down through the corridor of trees
over the shallow creek, kissing the limpid water with its wake

I’ve loved you a very long time. Come home with me.

Then you’ll still love me, won’t you?