A lost parade
Drifts
Down a silent street
As empty houses,
Eyes bulging with damp-fattened wood,
Drink its drying whistles.

Now intemperate skies bestow
The rain
And throw dust
From cars and feet
Into solemn shapes for dancing.

The first of Autumn
Shakes the light from the skies
As the leaves lie crackling
Beneath departing shoes.