This Autumn night is full of shadowed sounds
From leaves that might be steps upon a lawn
Or, howling faintly till I turn around,
A spirit waiting, from the dim beyond.
Upon the wind, an acrid smelting drifts,
A glow begins to summon ancient fears
—The fire at Chase, the blackened ash, its gifts—
And now, a blaze begins, the night is seared.
So swift the silent dark is split by fire,
By Autumn, lying tongues, by laughing teeth.
The static air had loosed a lashing wire
To spit and snare, with upward moulting leaves.
This night has turned its silence to a song;
A holy ghost to pin my fears upon.