Her Eyes, Like Chestnuts
By Colin Mahoney
It’s when we feel certain that life plays the trickster.
Certain, I was, that nothing is sacred
So much as to subdue my reason, refined
Through hours of strenuous reading;
Sharp and direct was my mind ‘til I tasted
Her eyes, like chestnuts immersed in fire.
My mind has now erred, my step’s lost its vigor, and
I, smart, now play the fool. I, usually
Brisk with head held high, now saunter
And study the autumnal leaves;
Oh, how the colors resemble those eyes.
The rain? I don’t notice. The cold? I am numb.
The warmth in my chest conquers all senses;
My mind is reluctant to move forward.
I woke from a dream that allowed me to kiss her.
With haste, I went out to catch the sun rise,
And though the rosy hands of dawn shone bright,
My eyes were drawn to dark colors of fall.
Certainly uncertain, I smile, and sigh—
Mere visions of her do burn me withal.