in the shadows
...and so once more
the full moon is upon us,
the Hunter Moon,
Moon of Blood and Harvest,
Moon of the Dying Grass,
and I have aged again
as in every Autumn passed
a year of hard time served
with the rest of all the living;
my private sentence
for the brutal crime of my survival.
It is in this time of year I feel you most,
the elemental shining through the fire in your eyes,
the gasp and grasp and clutch of you,
in your precious French, "la petite mort"
the little death,
little practice for the big one,
still I survive living on the knowledge
that one day the hounds
will chase the Autumn fox without me,
and I will sleep again
warmed in the fire of your soul.
©2006 by icebox