It was a delicate autumn
Arriving in the cold corridors
Of streets silently,
And falling onto the roads,
Decaying, becoming
Petrified foliage that masked
The yellow lines
And no voice stirred
Because almost everything was still
And everything might have been dead
Because I know for a fact
No one saw me pausing,
Smelling the air and tasting the last
Light of dawn.
No one saw my shoes let the dew in,
I was the only one who knew
That the leather was wet.
I stopped in the grass,
A clouded, pastel green that came to my knees,
And tried to remember something
But all I could recall
Was rain.
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