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.
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