you speak
says the rain
very heavy
out of the north
over the tops of
trees into the
forest becomes
the soil filled
with nostril
of pine,

and the street goes
merry outside
the classroom
the wind and pane
groaning with
rain

a single tiny
figure crosses quickly
into the warm
hands of laughter
coat filled with
themselves

and outside
Autumn is constantly
dying constantly
pushing into
glade and fen

her colorful
mouth and
long thinness
of day.