copper9lives

Candyfloss cloud in pull-apart sky Conflagration of day to die Tree silhouettes hold fast to fight Then routed, fall back into night

The pearl in the chamber Unfurls, becoming Light through lashes Voices Faces Needs Shape and color Dreams and patterns Things and concepts Self and other Speech… The chamber grows Opening into vast complexities Bewildered, we simplify, stepwise In order to become. We stretch, spiraling open. And after The glories The epiphanies The full tapestry of chances and choices Possibilities and potentialities Emotions and alliances Word and deed The dust worn fine beneath us Embers crackling to ash Leaves curling in frost We wind inward again Memories Connections, tied off quietly Things said and unsaid Things done and undone The senses fade The chambers become smaller More distant Until the pearl sits alone Entire.

From blazing sails Of autumn’s canopy That stoke the wind-bright skies The plunge To winter’s chill black mirror: What reflection to see This season of pain?

The tapestry of summer Yellows, thinning Like parchment, the age of the year Fading the secret words of the Wood To arcane obscurity A hearthfire of memory Against the coming cold.

Fox moon Light pooling In the hollow bellies of leaf-fall The hungry ghosts of summer

Perhaps I should offer my hand to Autumn And open the doors to the liminal wayfares that once frightened me Risk all, since limiting my risks has left me circling and failing, Circling and failing. Will I learn to rule my traveling, as I once had the courage to dream To stand with one foot in each of two worlds, and craft a life in between? To live is to question, to wonder, To wander far from where we started And I am not done asking. But this road goes nowhere; I am travel-weary and footsore Ending up back where I began with less than I once claimed. So I will seek the Crossroads, turn deosil And not look back. Behind is only ashes and bones: signposts for other travelers.

Leaves, and leaves, and gloaming leaves Their summer secrets keeping The telltale turn of autumn hints Within September sleeping Smoke and oak and barley wine The harvest moon in slow decline The fading hush of passing cars The brittle bite of distant stars.

The years were turning Like curdled hopes Dreams gone to seed and blown away My sense of womanhood rattling dry And choices borne aloft, Lost in the westering sun. In fear I dug my toes into the past But the tides of time Pulled my youth from beneath me The shores eroding fast. Then at last: My seasons changed I let go, simply and quietly Breathed into it and became. Like summer rain: Suddenly joy.