Ah, autumn is an inward thought,
huddling
behind a downhearted's wrinkled brow,
his reflection unnerving
in the café window
on top of the damp and withdrawn scenery
of the town square,
as he sits, empty, at a table,
coffee left untouched

Meanwhile,
deep in the coniferous wilderness
of the north,
a raven crouches on a pine bough,
close to the trunk
quavering, talking to himself,
wings folded

The August moon rises imperceptibly,
its round face bright and mute,
as everything listens;
the entire world a speechless haiku

In the town a man slips into the night,
his raincoat pulled tight,
the lights from the café throwing his shadow
before him
across the cobblestones
as he merges with the dark