Montane

Now it is the time of bare trees,
where proud green waves of leaves
once painted the warm wind.
I look with you out the window and wonder
if the landscape of your heart is like this,
if I was once full and green inside you,
an Eden where only trees were clothed
and we brought each other soft and warm things.

And yet, I am still warm beside you,
and the sun will return to his station,
and perhaps only temporarily less.
Birds are still free to fly,
in a Xanadu I could not see
for the now vanquished fullness of verdure
has left a heaven of nests.