trying to keep in
touch, the moving moment.

(wind circles
up,
cycling leaves,
a gentle flood sent to carry

seasons. i've become here
part of the process.

walking between the whispers
of grass,
staying to the shifting
leaves,

i marshal a line-
a path,

wrest a significance
from the algebra
of baring
trees.

plainly feeling muteability
in the autumn play of air.)

the fall of leaves
the resistance of a particular
movement.

Steven Reid