it's ok not to answer

when I don't know I think about
how all of life is longing -
for the moment, for a time, for that time
love and joy and leaf-piles
gingerbread and bendy straws and Halloween,
and sadly staring through the window sometimes think
all the longing does not amount to anything, does it,
a constant search without an answer, a
dusty ray of light that ends not quite on the floor.
When I was small and not so small and would
walk downstairs and my
mom would be talking to my aunt on the phone,
socks & sunlightpatterns on the cool wood floor -
(She would tell me as a child,
it's okay don't cry, the holidays will come
each year, forever)
It's not about amounting though I feel
in the hope-for-autumn air through the window
The longing - for a season, a name, a lamp-post,
greatcoated gentlemen, or snow
and kisses, and something
I saw once in a dream
Chasing the notion,
heart-thrillingly