Wanderlust

The leaves around the yard are falling fast
and cling in soggy carpets of decay.
I watch them fall and long to move away
before the snow arrives. We could recast
these stale, October lives. The land is vast;
youth flows along her roads. Why should we stay,
unraveling the sameness of each day,
until our faith in distances has passed?

Tonight we'll watch our summer hopes expire
as I make dinner on the charcoal grill.
Then, huddled in the darkness, we'll conspire
to weave these fantasies into a plan.
We'll charm the gypsy autumn to stand still
with foolish schemes to steal his caravan.