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.