The Voice Of My Beloved

I heard the voice of my Beloved in the frost this morning.
I heard it in the first rays of sun caressing the flaming maples
in the glow of the pumpkins on the steps across the street
first of many sacrifices we’ll make to winter.
I heard it in the warmth of the brick and the shine of the steel
the movement of the ships on the river, the trains on the track
the still voice of my own small heart:
It said: Live.