The Lengthening Light

This year does not seem to grow old 

so much as appear to know more about itself.

The lengthening shadows of spectres cast

in the winnowed rattle bone grass. 

Summer knew nothing except its empty parade,

young men and women on the tide out days

with all worries kept at bay.

The shadows retreated to the old woods, the lea lands,

planning their autumn return, the September harvest,

lightening in the broken bowl of the valley, unseen,

measured chalk scrawl on the hill

etched out by forced pre-Roman tribal hands.

Depth of the figure assumes dark sincerity

in the year-end shadowings.

Rich carpet of foliage laid down to dampen

dread tread in a deeper season, fuller meaning,

banners of the forest fall laid blazoned down.

Heirloom overclothes exhumed from the wardrobe,

woodman's green and brown, russet baize,

our uniform in the quietened lands.

Since we know ourselves to be autumn people really,

souls attuned to the nut ripe heart, the blossomed dark,

following into the woods to meet the mirror folk.