Crimson

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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.

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