A new cry in the air. A bird saying a new thing
or a new bird. Such familiar unfamiliarity hanging
in the air, once and again. In the same way the leaves
are newly umber, orange, red. New winds, new rain
a new storm throwing rain-pebbles at the window.
It wants to speak to us, too. Don’t slide that window
up, let nothing in. That storm wants in, that wind,
that rain. Inside the walls, inside the tempest,
we’ve heard it all before. The leaves sneak in
on our shoes. By then not so beautiful, not so perfect,
once they’ve weathered it all so long. Raw umber,
burnt umber, blood orange, blood red. Tattered.
I remember now I’ve heard that call before.
This is how I let you in. This is how I love you.