September and the rain is warm,
shattering on baked earth,
tearing webs and gone again
as soon as sun without a trace
on the cracked ground,
there and not there like a voice
i remember over this field,
not even with an echo
or an echo an echo
of all that is gone,
and i am running again
over this dusty road,
acorn caps and cherry seeds
vanishing beneath my feet.
–adapted from a poem by Paul Perry.
