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Jardin Botanique, October 15th 2016
Her arms are to the sky
and
her feet are in the dust
and
she is draped in careless drops of gold
(some down already, swirl around her)
and
the rain is coming
and wind is coming
and night is coming
and winter is coming
but
now
she is reaching
gold leaves against deepening blue
a tracery of branches, reaching,
now
now
the huge harvest moon
low in the sky
catches a moment,
hangs heavy in her net
blurs
through sudden burn of tears.

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