They stood a while and watched the dog
inspect the yard and chase the leaves.
The autumn breeze caressed his face
the way her tender kisses do.
She wrapped her arms around his waist
and pressed her head into his chest
–to say so much without a word—
and felt his soft, contented sigh.

Their maple tree stood bare against
the horizon’s orange-yellow glow
and stained a graceful lattice across
the window of the November sky.

“Was it enough?” she asked about
Thanksgiving’s meal.

He reached to stroke
her hair the tender way he had
for years and felt, again, how well
their bodies fit when close. “Beyond,”
he said, then stopped to savor how
their fit now spoke to him of more
–of truth, of sacred bonds, of love
that burned with flames of passion still.
“Beyond,” he said, “what words might tell.”