October Night
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October Night
Strong winds from the south
bend the night trees, tearing down
summer’s last leaves,
jangling the rusted chimes.
The closed windows groan
with long gusts, go silent, groan again
all the more, as if grieving in the dark
for some dear presence, gone.
Wakened by the wind’s low song
I go downstairs to read. And listen long
to the autumn night:
The rooms are quiet now, except
the interlocking clock-wheels clicking,
turning toward some distant dawn.
Beyond the walls, great trees howl
strong gusts from the south
—a storm approaches from the Gulf.
Beside me, a small grey moth
flutters round the yellow lamp
making large shadows, the silent walls.
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–Quilla
Ruach 333, by Quilla 