Written at the End of Fall

You and I as we walked in the Autumn, The brown leaves crackling In our footprints, Never seemed to talk about tomorrow; We simply breathed the smoke In all it's varied shades and tints. And I find I knew you best in fall. As we passed the skeletons of trees, The cold wind reaching through torn fabric on our knees And phoenixes burned and cried in all the leaves, They were dreaming everywhere We were dreaming everyone Amidst the fire. The black ash birds filled the contours of the sky, A thousand shadowed, spectral forms. You said there was more poetry in it, Should we call them Ravens; But I named them crows. Let us call things what they are. As we stepped upon the bones of summer, The dying sun gave off a wintry shudder And our words replaced the canal's usual mutter; It was dreaming anywhere, We could dream of anyone Along the earth. In the window, there are ghosts of pale eyes Lit by the moon in its Impersonal glow, And the appearing shapes of pathways long forgotten A world which now Only you know, Controlling all the tides. As yellow smoke wreathes all around, Curved in riddles on the ground. As we stood by silent stars On the earth with all it's scars And the empty sun-worn roads were ours; It was dreaming nowhere, I simply dreamed no one and nothing Into the air. I knew you best, I think, in fall.