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September grass

Splitting in a tepid wind

Swimming in red sun

Lowing like a prayer beneath ashen sky

Humble eyes

Your tears in the early light

Like the sweet offerings

Of your moonlit solitude

If the warmth of the day

Carries them away,

Suspends them in the air above you

We will breathe them in.

When 

it is quiet between the blades

I whisper through the cracks and lines

In my skin

The wrinkles beside my eyes

The hole in my heart

Where I know the oxygen turns

to fire.

I blow consonant breath toward the spark there

And the embers nearly ash.

I tell them about my shame

Until they burst

into flames

Because my fear of the dark has enough wind.

Finding false fault

in my fine broken branches with blossoms still fastened,

drawing lines across the glower,

begging me in blues and green

floating behind bones and breast,

sewn with sinews like hopes patch

worked by habit:

Frayed and stray threads holding steady.