Bleeding Hurts

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,   
of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sere.
~ William Cullen Bryant

.
I saw a heart
carved in bone,
split in two pieces,
bleeding hurts…

Under bare limbs,
autumn weaves
a fiery blanket of death,
waiting to rot
back to life.

“Do you hear me, man?” the Wind howls. “You’ve turned the Seasons into a ruthless bitch. And through the bark, Nature is weeping her heart out.”

.
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads and Hedgewitch’s Friday 55.

Silenced Fires

I’m with her from moonrise to sunset, from lost to not yet found—listening, plotting, feeling every word and world that darkens the ink in her veins. When July reaches its lustiest, when leaves are green and birds gaudy, when she craves the cooling touch of water and dirt, I fill her head and hips with burning tales, and I wait… for her fingers to spell my wilds real. We sing much out of the heat, before the chill chants of change.

Autumn dressed
the lake reddish gold,
silenced fires.
In her heart, summer-
crafted stories fade.

.
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.