The beat of a train
At the crossroads of rain
Trucks on the street
And wiping of feet
The rasping of leaves
And patter of eaves
With leaf blowers
Offensive to the last flowers
And avian overtures
Announcing departures
Autumnal music
Turns inwardly magic
It fades from the forest
Like flowers from a florist
It creaks like a door
And falls through the floor
The descent is unkind
To the shelter of the mind
With accelerated sawing
The rot is gnawing
With tree shredders
Like men of letters
Outside our windows
Drift reds and yellows
Apples percussing
A quieter sussing
With more and more blue
Fruiting into view
More and more space
Attending the race
And late-night squalls
Pushing pianos over walls
Salvatore Ala 