Poem for Friday, October 26, 2012

Harvest

Leaves frolic around us

hitch windy rides find

homes or don't.

                   This autumn you claim me

                   twirl my scarf fringes

                   manage to whisper the

                   ineffable.



                   You claim me with the

                   hues that sough in gusts

                   sharp deciduous and

                   bleeding.



                    You claim me without

                    gray-skied conditions

                    stand before me naked

                    as the birch.



                    This thing we cultivate

                    mustn't be carved or

                    shucked  like remains

                    of a harvest.

                   
Please understand:
                 
                    I won't reduce you

                    to some analogy.

                   
                   
                    You will keep me

                    through the seasons.