There are paper lanterns strung across
the front of an old brick building,
their delicate watercolour painted facades
hiding moonstruck light,
if I hadn’t looked up,
I would have missed the mystery floating there.
It’s easy to see the variegated autumn splendour
still clinging to moss covered limbs,
lying in heaps upon the grass and choking roadways –
not so, those subtle nuances,
a flash of dark wing, glistening berry and
tendril of wood smoke,
signposts for those who walk between worlds.