September

September doesn’t want to leave me

he begs to play a song before the month is,

a week away from falling.

Falling in love makes way for a bedroom.

I am no longer in my bedroom,

though,

I am here in the fields

I & a fox howl all night for our harvest moon.

The moon is yet to harvest,

I am yet to become her temptation,

I rest in a needful meditation,

as the wheat field cries one last evening.

I and the fox find peace…

a silent man rising in us both,

attuning to her body,

We bow inward.

it was always her body,

that was the harvest,

a plentiful garden at winters tempt,

kept in a wooden chest

adorned with a golden lock

We wont unlock her now,

September is somber for waiting,

though,

She is attuned to patience,

howling for more,

without a sound left to convey.

quiet now