Libra

October, just before the clocks go back:
Late entry autumn balances the books.
Chlorophyll degrades. What withered leaves lack
In greenness, red, gold, brown make up for. Rooks
Caw like conquerors, squirrels shin up trees.
September’s fleeting equilibrium
Loses its fulcrum, threatens to displease
And cold gusts herald pandemonium.
Rain. Muddy paths. Unwary walkers slip
And air and water turn insidious.
Summer’s a distant memory, a blip.
Skies fill with cloud formations hideous.

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[Author’s note] Je suis soumis au Chef du Signe de l’Automne...
(I am beholden to the owner of the sign of autumn)
in « Signe », in Alcools, by Guillaume Apollinaire, 1913