In the Pursuit

It is September just before the first frost.
Here I am in the overgrown garden

and I am not the farmer.
I am located on the edge

of the tangled summer.
You will find me to the left

of the stonewall
and where the trees have learned

to translate silence,
where fog and desire blur the edges

of all the rules of nature.
For all this heat

we have burned to make one another glow,
to gaze at sun setting into purples,

and to let earth cool around us
until we are lifted into the arms of stars.

We travel in native time and heal our wounds
with magic, secret herbs, and prayers

that sooth us with the blessings of our mothers.

Be lightning. Be skin and blood to touch.
Be an endless breath. Be invisible and primal stones

anchoring us to these happy days of new autumn.
Let the sky take us to where we harvest

only the bright beauty
of our absolute joy.