old to autumn

 old to autumn

slow in its long running 

this storm

this black and blue autumn

its anticyclones of leaves 

rising smokeless 

high along a squall’s running

blowing through the field’s hair

defoliated in the whipping of a silver birch

  gerry and the pacemakers on the radio

weeping the long shadows of a feeling

that we have all been here before 

the music of the leaves running 

in the wind’s pursuit

the tutu of the fig leaves dancing

sunshine upon the closing of eyes as

the day’s tenure slips through our fingers 

a time that was never destined to persist 

or to ever desist in the melancholy 

of a long walk home