III

Autumn

Season of mists
And the bitter crop of summer
Shedding its leaves to light up fires.

Branches spring bare
Black; skies deaden
To flatness or deepen to hollow swirls.

Rivers of silver
Run leaden; fog
Shields the signal of the balding hills.

The earth fuddles;
But men awake to warmth:
The leaves of hunger light up fires.