Fall Nights

the mad hairs of the wind are unloosed, they shake
and drum eerily
on the windows, almost
an old clairvoyant knocking on the door
to tell me
something terrible.

look at those eyes
which gleam with a finished, indifferent
appeal, that dark body
that travels to the ends and bends of the universe
to reveal so much emptiness.

all that she knows, we cannot know
with the penetrating eye of science.
we
only know the sound of her orgasm
long long ago
which created so much empty space
along with the order of the universe
which is her backbone.

the leaves flip and flutter and flop,
the touchdown of brown, crisp done.
her eyes, they are woven into night
watching with the eyes of gods
waiting for change.

And if she were to sign her name,
it is the shape of her body
floating on ink
late, late into the night
escaping the touch of crude lovers
who wish to pillow her to death.