Approaching Winter Fruits

Upon the gold thread
Of your entrances
Amidst the whispers
Of trees on fire
In the small
Dark tunnel
To your heart-
There are plants
Of resurrection and
Directions determined
To destroy
Their vocabularies
Of disaster
With spark
And steam,
With dreams that
Beat much faster-
In bodies
Filled to spill,
Such seeds
Of him
To match her,
Twisting
Down
Deep
In roots
That build
For rapture.

Repairing The Transformer

With many years alone-
You comb through old and new-
To find where you belong and
To that home stay true.

Plenty the enemies of intimacy-
Turn and kiss their cheek.
That your fistfuls of will
Bring the appropriate fire but
Still let it burn and breathe-
That you touch
The gold light of shadows-
You would dance both
Under and over the clouds
Knowing sky as sky,
Showing your eye its eye.

Bent wrongs and
Well within our rites-
Secret ascension.
My love longs to be
Spent in expression-
A thousand colored lights.

Chime

Winds of change
To rearrange-
Tall rustling bodies of trees
Scattering their debris
For feet to kick,
Slip,
Sift
In the gold
Light drifts-
Bluster gusts
And
Seeds to seek-
Dusk as dream
And
Twilight speech-
Tuck
To
Mend
And
Spin-

Generate a heat within.