harvest

and we winnow
the words now,
until they fall like a lullaby
soft and sweet and
cradling a heart
cracked at the edges,
kin to the crumbling leaves.

woodsmoke hovers
on the breath of
autumn's kiss
as it carries off the
detritus of trees,
swirls of red and gold
unravelling
like ribbons
that remember, faintly,
the verdant spring
and whisper, low,
in their bone-rattle shuffle,
all things are meant to fall.

oh angel
i remember
when your hands
fell on me like a lullaby
satin and silk and
warm from the fire,
the golden light limning
your eyes
like brandy in a glass.

there was a time when
your wolf-smile
wove me into knots and
we filled the cool night
with promises.

but they broke like ice
on the cusp of your lips.

the leaves leaned down
to kiss the cold ground
like grains of sand
gathered
in the belly of a glass
and it aches to admit
you were gone long
before you left me,
far before
the wings of frost
could feather the night.

and didn't you leave me
like a straw doll
hanging lonely in the field
waiting for the scythe
to fall
breaking like your breath
warm on the slender column
of my neck
like the last sigh
of summer
slipping through my pale hands?

leaves, only leaves now
left to splinter
folding in my fingertips
brittle and musty
as the insides of a rare book,
the same story written
on every page.

and there is
something in the silence
of the dying season
that falls like a lullaby
sad and soothing and
steeped with ghosts
that tangle on my tongue
like a graveside serenade
and whisper wisdom
with words sown by sorrow.

when the last leaf falls
to the slow, solemn drifts
i know
i will reap the bittersweet
beauty of echoes
and this
will be
my harvest.