Autumn Poem

“restlessly, driven by leaves.”

after a line by Rilke

shoved places of air –
pockets of autumn/natural languages.

The scuffed water/the swinging fruits/the ruffled gulls

                          – wind with its throat open.


The soaring cold barks at windows like a kept-out dog
whines through the small spaces/slows the old.

And in cold’s quiet undertow blood is not quite wide enough/blood
clotted on pavements rowanberry red.

My ear to the stone hard/hard
a murmur is coming/
a tremble of locked-up hooves.

Jackdaws and magpies land on the treetops.
The branches flap/they wave.
                          An old man looks up in his flat cap/
                          his mouth a shut wound.

Kolya, ghost-white
traipsing the ochre-cluttered gardens
                          and Milo, a shadow/
his guts thrust up to his chest.

the days loop-gusts tight to the bone
loose to the sky/the lifted holes.


From ‘A Wound’s Sound’, Oneiros Books, 2014. First published at ‘Poethead’.

A Wound's Sound
A Wound’s Sound

6 thoughts on “Autumn Poem

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