Autumn oud

I am that sorrow

you dreamt of yesterday,
oh pillowfriend, apple
of my streaming eye.

My childhood was filled
with what all dreams become
in the long run, filled as
your two cupped hands poured on.

I invite all friends
to partake of mine without
discrimination, bringing
here each one as one.

Since one is all,
this, then, is my call:
does your sorrow last?  Weep in me!
Foreign leaves must fall.