Shreds: “Miles”

We art unstable and more frail
Than tears in October days,
Sadistic, with no avail,
In speaking with but words a-twain,
And my verses now lie strewn
‘Cross miles that now do seem
A mosaic of cobblestones hewn,
Where my dreams collide in beam.
We art skillful and most stubborn
As November’s winds so fleet,
With migraines ‘neath the willows,
Ending all in naught complete,
And my dreams are torn asunder
By the miles that I do tread,
To see us transformed yonder,
Where others strangely speak instead.