‘All that is solid melts into air’ – Karl Marx
Sun and rain and trickster wind
are dissolving summer’s certainty.
Geese fly in. Swallows abandon
the empty stables and telephone wires.
The birds know the ways between
the hot and cold places, how long to stay
and when to depart into the wind.
The world is leaving with the birds,
all that is solid is autumn’s gateway
beneath the sheltering boughs
of the gleaming oak. I stand within
redrawing the edges of my reality:
bark and beams, trembling leaves
preparing to fall. I do not know the ways
between the summer and winter places
yet must step through and walk them
blind in the sunshine, drenched in the rain
until I know the day and the secret of the gateway
and can melt like a swallow into the wind.