Autumn is of letting go, returning
to the ground in slow surrender.
We rise, then fall, once green,
now crimson, pouring out to
earth like the blood of the covenant.
We wonder most in autumn if
there is something beyond everything.
Hold on as long as strength allows to
flare into the charis wheel of
burning mortal glory ‘til the
sweetness is as it should be,
seeped into the rhizome
rooted dark and deep.
This, the season we learn our names,
leaves in the wind,
loose and long lost
into the heart of everything.