You

Are as quiet as a city street
after the evening rains of September

but prettier than this scene
in black and white,

the brilliance of lamp posts
reflected on the pavement, wet with rain.

You are far more beautiful
than all the maple or birch trees here

ablaze in reds and oranges, with mountains
and snow to complete the photograph.

I don't miss Boston
looking at your photograph:

Not its coffee shops, river,
nor the shade of trees.

But this I remember-
you on my camera viewfinder:

your dew-glazed skin
shimmering under autumn light;

your long, ebony hair quietly fastened
on your exposed shoulders, arms;

your lips, pouting against
the sun's red-purple light.