wolfsbane

This green corn moon
This perseid moon has me reeled in & bound
Flat out upon this lichen-rock mesa
Open, yet closed
Collecting no souvenirs
No trinkets
Hungry for movement & a reciprocal force
Electric & startling
A north westerly breeze shakes the maple leaves and they remember a bitter frost
all too soon . . .
As the day shines toward twilight
Expectant & paused

This sturgeon moon strips me of artifice & need
Pink & hollowed
Folded inside out
fragile
Awaiting strength
The breeze has quieted as twilight draws closer
Hearing echoes, whispers & purpose
Longing for a scent of pine & altitude
a secret stashed in my marrow

Bright me on, tap the fire-core
Rise up ooh full red moon
And sing me to a rising of spirit & knowing