I can hear the water, cascading
I can her the birds, invading
Such is
The stillness of autumn
I can see that settled surety
In the rusted trees
In the well-trimmed hedge
In the solid oak seat, which I sit upon
I see the singular gull
Gliding, and swooping, and landing
I see the crimson-red, star-shaped leaves
Set against the grey-blue sky
I count twenty-five vertical dark windows
In the, near-distance, conference centre
There is not a soul about
But of course there are insects, and flies
Midges, and maybe even mosquitoes
Which quickly puts me on edge
As did the vertigo
On the clifftops earlier today
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