fresh winds whistle
autumn’s
song
midst the absence
of birds to
carry it
along,
like a trickling stream
ready to freeze
at the very hint of
an evening
breeze.
mindfulness
one drop disturbs
a puddle–
rippling itself
into a
fury
only settled
by time.
crimson of the
leaves-
symbolic of
blood..
from the heart of
a tree,
i’m raking up
floods.
a hunter’s
moon
halts us within
her sights–
she aims and fires
with focused
might,
we take the hit,
and thank her for it.
flannel hugs and
hot cocoa..
and we both
know
it’s you that fills
my cup,
lips meet
chalked with sugar..
another comfort
i won’t
give
up.
evening rain teased
us watchers
all the way
down the pane,
where each drop
found its
place-
staring misty beauty
in the eye.
in silence i
lost you
to a desire
for distraction,
then after dancing ’round
buffers for what
seemed like
forever
we eased into the
absence of
words,
that first touch
meant more
to us
than any sea
of words
rippling about
our heads,
we two-
barely afloat
above the
surface.
on breathless
night–
we set flame to our
final page
and buried a heavy
chapter..
like relic not worth
exhuming in
this life,
then sought out
a fresh
star
to guide us with hope
to daylight.
building fires with
my hands,
atop the soil that
cakes my
nails,
upon land that
returns my
love
in
abundance.
hands in the garden 
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