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| Afeld in light rain |
I can't go slowly enough
over these tilting planes of solitude,
unstable in the great layering,
in the showcase of gravity and change,
succumbing to both.
The trouble is you won't stay gone
but keep reappearing
in the substance and hue of October,
as mist lying down in the hollow,
as rain tapping on my hat brim,
as gusts of leaffall across this wooded slope
vividly feigning its death.
Sometimes I think I would welcome oblivion
with its second chances, but I wait,
I wait for the rain to ease and the moon to uncover,
for I remember the moonlight,
and it is beautiful through bare boughs.
