This Time Of Year

You will begin to let them in
it's that time of year
the membrane thin between the world
of loss and ours when nights
are sharp with frost and we've
not packed away our summer clothes.
Not just the dead come creeping back
but lovers you have sent away
tried to forget, ignored
even the ones who were with you
when you heard.

It will start with passing thought
a wondering, or in the doorway
of a restaurant someone in their shape
who wears their clothes just so
or hangs their hands just by their thigh
like they did - this will stir your mind
to bringing them up, forefront
the frontal lobe, already all mixed up
with the business of emotion
will fire off its neurones one by one

soon you will be dreaming
and before they've lit November fires
they'll be sinuous among your dreams
their names on your lips as you wake
you'll be wondering if you made
a mistake or maybe kicking yourself
for missing them.