The haunting of time.

I find you in the saffron
stars, scintillating in my
fireplace; how I wish you
could have held me during
the years of darkness,
when my spine curled up
on the floor and breathing
felt like a dragon I couldn't slay.

You only visit during the
autumn, when the chill does
significant damage to my
memories of warmth - when I
shiver at the silence, anticipating
the onset of winter's animosity.

Your voice overtakes the
cimmerian nights, casting
lustrous rays that trail my
footsteps with the scent of
chestnuts and the ginger plants
I bring inside to survive the cold.

I'm grateful for your ghost,
though I wish I could haunt
you forever instead.