It's Autumn; That's What It Is. Poem by John Thorpe

It`s autumn, that's what it is;
it's that thick cream of sight;
oozing;
yes, that's it;

it's the folds of cloud
low, ivory rolled to grey;

it`s the falling and falling,
the falling leaves etched
gold on black;

it`s the centre green
feathered out by yellow;
yes,
it`s the yellow,
that's what it is,

it`s that yellow,
edging to scarlet;

that's what
it

is.

It's sound in your sight;
that thick cream of sound;
the sound of leaves
falling and falling.
the crisp leaves`filigreed descent;
the smack
of falling yellow in the eye;
yes,
that's what it is.

it`s the distance;
suddenly close with color,
that's the noise in the eye,
that smack,
that's the sound you feel,
a coolness, filigreed,
warming into orange -

close, bright;
yes,
it`s a longing,
that ‘s what it is;
it`s this longing -

being
steeped
gold, shading in to black.

yes,
it`s that pain,
filigreed,
shading into scarlet;
that centre of pain
feathered out to longing;
yes,
that's it, that joy,
that yellow swelling out to crimson,
that dense, cool, cream-thick joy;
that's what
it
is;

it's that suddenly being;

that falling and falling and falling
from gold whorling into crimson;
yes,
that's what it is,
it's that

yes;
it's that
yes
that's what;
it
must
be.