The world’s first urban autumns signalled

and included these, their last. Sparrowhawks

side-eye service stations beneath a henge

of moon. A petrol-coloured dome of sky

hides a dwindling fizz of insects. Simply

look at us, in love in a lapsing world.

I want to move through cold water with you,

feel its skin allow our skins, see

our oils create a complex of surfaces, lifting

off our bodies like the warmth inside a room,

like lightning teasing air apart before

it pours into the earth, a pure, fluid

arm of vibe, a muscle made of light.

All morning we sleep inside each other like crooks.

All afternoon the year begins expiring

into colour, soft fountains of shades

the trees. All night we’ll go away this weekend,

watch the world removing its spectacles.