Fall Note

Fall Note

The blurred, flamy tide
has laid its long acre
under the hedges, on pavements.

All the colours of earth
come down to earth to give
thresh-music to walking.

We get the drift: let the paths
be covered in write-offs, warm
to this covering.

I sweep the twelve steps
from our front door to the street,
each, bristly, fine-tuning sssh!

clearing the shelves,
setting the lines straight.
Now, if I can take that sound

into my head.