Early Autumn

No words for
the colors on
this fiery hillside,

inexplicable,
so that I do not
move to take

even one
photograph,
but rather hold

each muscle
still to breathe
deep the delicate

scent of evening
as elegance carves
its name into the

part of my brain
that stores such
things, which must

be near the place
for love, because
I think of you then

and the way we
write our names
on the body

of one another,
the taste of living
on our lips,

as all the words
dissolve
into colors.

Wild Bloom

Love,
be like raindrops
devoured
by dry earth,
unbridled
as wild flower
blossoms,
and be
consumed
by the scent of it,
the lush of it,
fall back
into fields
of the decadent
bloom
that swallows
our thoughts and the time
in this high untamed
garden
at summertime’s end,
spill
every last petal
of riotous blue
to the black earth
that beckons
all back
to the soil
between
your barefooted
revelrous
roots.