The air’s pounded blue
in the wake of the nighttime rain,
and this too can prove
that Autumn has begun anew
by splitting light and dark.
Into two precisely equal parts,
but with a gentle tip—
towards the advancing night.
And the trees, once more
in going out, are trying to flash
their toying pink or rouge
just as the soil grows again softer,
moist—like a poem’s gentle speech
when readied to be tilled.
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