Freshmen

in memoriam Jackie Bosch

It’s the season my windows breathe
and I remember how, in early drafts

of fall, now and then you’d get to me.
When the blush of first love touches

these leaves, it’s too late for doors, and you
come through my window from the arms

of my tree to say it’s over or you love me
or whatever’s just killing you and dreams

you awake. Remember our colors so apt
to change? —We escape, let ourselves hang,

and fall freshmen into the chill, the strange
warmth, where we can die and be reborn in so little time.