Autumn leaves in silent flight,
whisper brass beneath the moon.
Saxophone sighs like midnight rain,
every note a burnt-orange bruise.
I still taste your last goodbye
in the hush between the beats;
the piano holds the door ajar,
but the wind is you, and you don’t stay.
Shadows slow-dance on the floor,
horn-lines curl like cigarette lace;
time folds into a minor chord—
I breathe your name, the tempo fades.