hand fast

We
are of this field
gathered wheat & moonstone
cloaked in the sombre sky of winter rain
separated by design
by desire cooled to rye whiskey
the crimson thread thin as sinew
tender not
merely silent
merely sure
resilient to wind & weather
tucked within that hollow space between bone & solitude
now resides the mirth of tiny souls trusted
held fast to the lines we've drawn of ourselves
for ourselves
of ochre & ash
wild wonderers
where one leaves off ... another begins
thick histories of pages wrinkled
circling
dancing
tethered to this field
this life
this
golden gather

hold fast