juggling
the light lies gentle on this good night’s demise
bejewelled in the hazel’s turning of its leaves
that are not falling you see on a not not breeze
but hanging tinsel-like on the autumn trees
spidered in the leaf-light on a not-half dusty window
the shadows dance to a twig’s gyrating widow
stirring a mouse-leaf stirring in the wind
burning out like a dirty dream’s rescind
of a night’s contract with the day’s long tenure
until moon-rent full-down to the furtive sun
sinking sinking another wild night’s begun
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