Everything is falling brown

Prickled and sour sapped
I found you by the roadside,
your fall, split white
on chestnut brown.
 
The ground drowns
in a crinkled collapse
as feet shuffle sound
through wind-cornered clusters.
 
Rain needles,
sharp as sketch book pencils,
scurry shoppers along
run for cover high streets.
 
Blotted damp under a railway arch.
I pull my hood up and shudder,
bone deep,
on this top button day.