You and I --
our bones fall in Autumn colours
softly, like feathers cast
off our tree named 'Ionraic'* -
and till crack-filled frost reflects the glow of Spring
we lie, dormant as sleeping seeds in the hollow
of Terra's throat
while Winter shades draw their bridal greys
over a hundred suns.
when Nyx bows to Equinox
and sweeps away her starlit skirts
stay quiet in our foetal state, waiting
for the desperation of twittering calls outside
to settle into young Summer,
in humanity's solar affair
swinging low into heat-soaked lull
for as long as gratitude takes to smile.
And you and I --
Salt and sun lovingly blanch our bones,
and we are clean.
*"Ionraic" - pronounced [IN-rig] - is a Scottish Gaelic word meaning "honest" or "upright" or "just".