In the sheets of drizzle below the autumn cloud
eyes beaming with the glow of love
wave at the receding figure
to the farthest visibility.
The man leashed to the cubicle with the screen
would think of those faces
when the day is at its broadest invitation
and light like the luminous ether
fills every dark pocket of the land
listening to the rhyme of the clock
from his abyss of ratios and rates
while the vagabond clouds come together
and break apart in the game of revealing blue
painting new faces and waving hands
on the landscape of the gate
up to the farthest turn
in the sheets of drizzle
beneath the autumn clouds.