Each Autumn (on the death-anniversary of a soulmate)

Each Autumn wind consumes warmth ;    
fear swallows courage, until only musk      
of doubt remains as flailing laundry—      
beating wings of a Jaybird pinned

between honeysuckle teeth;
or, the tremolo call of migrating loons—
midnight mouths agape
     
It whips voices to pieces, leaving
only a silent history to mitigate
the disquieting distance
between us. My tongue is ripped-      

wheat beneath jaws of locusts
spreading tares over the harvest
One day the wind will rest
and the many pointed star

of solar plexus pulsing in the pit
of my stomach will rise
through the wormhole of throat
      
releasing a back-draft of lung and breath      
expelling the finality of our epitaph      
~      
     
     
author's note: how lucky are we    
to've been loved so greatly.    
   
painting: 'Fractal of His Light'    
Oils/Pastels/Sumi Ink,Tears'n    
other stuff on wc linen