Fall in the Forest

I forgot what I was listening for
in bland-bright night exaggerations
under tree-pond

and who it was or me

it had to do with how
or moon
dissolves the turning face
and pools a leafy loamy heart
or vein
or rises under skin.

Same round things,
up and down,
in fall always
and though the look is busy closer in

black fish pad bubbles jointed knees
distract and get away