Ripe Harvest Moon,
all the weeds gone to seed,
the pups weaned
at a new home now
in the next valley.

In the waxing follows full,
in the full, the waning.
Fruit in the fallow fields.
Sweet of apple,
wealth of pumpkin,
golden corn.

How blessed are we around this fire to share it?
To howl the umbra,
Earth, the Moon,
flow the blood
round the year,
leaves to roots,
to the ground.

not a sound

The eclipse red dark,
a full month spins
waiting for the light to return,
wraithed in drum-beat heart.

Ripe Harvest Moon,
all the weeds gone to seed,
the pups weaned
at a new home now
in the next valley.

I sit alone as if I am fading
Invisible in the ashen fields.
My heart longs to be somewhere
to where I see myself
Clear as the new day
True to oneself’s beauty
Away from the toxicity of people’s opinion
Or as far away from my own shadow of doubt.

I sit alone & not running anymore.
Losing strength as the wind passes by
Losing a bit of my edge in this unreasonable persona, I face.
Yet I never give a **** as long as I kept on going
Reaching for something Unreachable,
I can only hope…

I want to feel the life of someone’s at arm’s reach
to feel that I am alive
I missed you.