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on top of the damp and withdrawn scenery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