Empty Pillow

Every so often, the thought of her passes
Through my mind, and I am there with her
Under that quilted belly of gray sky,
The soft crunch of cold faded earth,
And in between… us, dissecting the plane,
Lingering in the perpetual dusk of autumn
Where memory with its visceral decay
Can no longer hold, like winter branches,
Truth, that awoke from that moment,
But now only sleeps atop the empty pillow
Beside me that no longer
Holds her scent.