Does Love Grow Cold?

A river chastens November’s facade
strokes its bank roughly
earth falls, tumbles
into earthen chunks of nothing

only memory, muddy
scar on a remaining surface
the only sign--
a piece of the puzzle once there

and yet it reminds me
of your love, not really gone into
cold water but faraway, as
a warm memory.

© Richard L. Provencher
Website: www.wsprog.com/rp/