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The Autumn King

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  • The Autumn King

    His leaves
    blanket what ground needs cover most,
    sap warms as it flows
    til frost's fervor
    ceases chilling movement,
    stills for coming snows.
    Rotation slows,
    exhuding His murky scent
    as i pass beneath silken boughs,
    the fragrance shudders through my pores.

    I make no sound
    kneading earth back from slumber
    with bare feet,
    brambles abound,
    heat coursing up my legs...
    summer's stoic end.

    Berries redden at my whim
    dripping emerald heads of moss
    when i most needed colour,
    swimming dewdrop to dewdrop
    waxing in perfect time and rhythm
    emerging before my vision falters
    to be absorbed beneath moist skin.

    On His approach skies darken,
    yet right when my eyes
    tour towards the moone He parts
    the noble umbra.

    I venture between mist-pale bark
    into the hollow of His soul...
    rain He allows there
    precisely so;
    when my head is hot with fever
    when my soil takes need of water
    penetrating past the pores,
    settling in my bones
    just as their ache awakens.

    Life from winter He took away
    is the life He gives.
    I gulp it greedily,
    grasping at His hand in multishades
    of intermittent gold

    I was only half until He made me whole.

    He is everything,
    growing young enough to die
    in the celestines of His mind
    i am taken.

    Risking immortality,
    exposing the night forest
    He is vulnerable
    yet He does so willingly,
    the most gracious host.

    Earthworms wriggle as i lay to rest,
    peeking through the foliage of His shelter
    as He calls in slow motion
    the song meant for me
    to hear,
    fastening His fingers in my hair,
    making me forget the sullen,
    carrion swell of lonely years
    before He came,
    feeding my drunken veins
    with His soft rapture
    crying out the ecstatic, deepening throes
    of everafter.