Early fall, the first flush of full season's surge,
the air humming with coming frost, the hawk's hovering
on mountain front, cliff -climbers, cleft in clouds,
shadow over the sun, then fallen into wind's harness.
In the woods, history-hidden by vines and last leaves,
standing stone-bridge, still strong, steady, dry-stacked
time-blunt, dappled by days, dawn and dusk, lichen-thick,
hanging arch still looms, bat darkness toward the middle.
Stone masons tired with all the hauling, time's limpid
winded weary wandering way: harrier-hanging off Caesar's
Head, tilts in wind and drifts west, one more fall.