lent to the autumn
gusts, jeweled trees
murmuring truth
under
an expectant moon,
months
pregnant with probability, rich
with
faltering grace, left
tangled
in silent spells
and threats of
darkness on their heels, oh
breathe, breathe
the absence
hunted and held down
by a silky dawn
they are filling
their
cups, hands in milk
and
honey, palms upturned
to a charlatan, piercing
all directions at once
aurora, aurora
the truth north,
the
transformation a
lightening birth
© 11.3.2017 heather brager
|
Tatiana Plakhova. |