Rushing through leaves, they fall
Down, abruptly down
To the ground, bumping the branches,
The windfall apples falling
Yellow into the long grass and lying
Where they have fallen
In the tree’s shadow, the shades
Of their soft bruises sinking, opening wide
Mouths to the mouths of creatures
Who like the sun are falling
To flicker, to worm’s end under
Themselves, the hatch of moons.