DHRUPAD 22 (empty)
Empty,
emptied the skies,
unwoven by soaring diving swallows suddenly not there
suddenly silent as the still silvered edged trees,
dusted time-dusted, picked out in the
more slanted light suddenly now.
The clouds pouring in now pouring in the winds.
Still warm the sun still warm
though the nights grow cool now.
The days are set,
the days are settled,
they nestle down on quietened fields
in the quiet ripening
fields where the slow pheasants pause
and pick and move on.
There will be the
wheeling words of red kites soon and buzzards soon
their own spells their own
summoning autumn songs
high in the blue and dazzling dazzling heights of
tumbled skies
and the grain nodding heavy
and the hazels winking
and the ash
trees longing to let go,
to let go.
—
