aurora, aurora.

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.