We play
by text message:

yardang, lepidoptera
anacrusis, mana;

trading syllables
and spellings
and meanings.

I magine his face
as he speaks each
word, see him
smile as he
stumps me.

Are his eyes
chocolate
or deep ochre?
Sienna
or raw umber?

Is our time together
sempiternal
or ephemeral?

I search
the fallen leaves,
but find only
amber and cinnabar,
goldenrod and
tangerine.

You collect words,
he said,
but does he know

 I also catalog
each look, each wink,
each line on his cheeks
storing them
for the coming winter.