It is the distinct pressure I welcome
fighting eagerly, within these walls of time,
to salvage what I may from loss.
I dig for it; like a restless adolescent I dig for calming.
And pleasure, yes, bring it forth with him
(Thank you for him)
balancing vagaries littered within my body-
a purge, yes... yes...
wondrous and perfect and complicated,
it reminds life to breathe, to continue, to sustain itself.
That "little death" shadows the larger
underneath layers of downy
as the snow ravages landscapes,
that balming ravage I know intimately.
It soaks into the parched earth as does his anchor,
warming seasoned soil with blue fingertips
dancing lightly across as the moon takes the stage,
the salvo of stars reverent in their motives to reinforce me
before I venture miles from home.
And birth once again senses renewal
as ashes spread the Atlantic.
I finally, now, with pensive feet - wet, sloppy, from sand and water -
forgive dawn, I curse the scythe no more
because we all return here, to the place where we fall to rise
and let the spirits linger around us, around me,
they safeguard my heart, protect me,
even after the next rustling of leaves golden falling.