Trailing

Divorced from fissured heat,
within the boughs and beats
of corn fens’ stippled silks
(via foot from asphalt spills),
a scalloped spongy rut
forks twisted through the feld.
The leaves in soggy patterns lie,
melding scattered eyelets bored
by bugs in every one.
The pepper spice of
green and brown and orange and red
reflect decaying summer’s trend.
The cooler wetter beds we tread,
our ankles and our thoughts
twisting at our feet,
tramp in easy beating union.
Our breath gathered to ourselves,
embracing both heavy earth
and flying creatures laden
with their mission and our berth,
we fall upon our brothers’ bed.
Clover lips and lavender
stalked grassheads pressing hips
hands and flesh and dark
fusain shadows dance confused
upon our dimpled skin.
The chance waving light to charcoal
outline stark against us then –
mouths parting wet, the waning heat;
the sun’s fading bands
sets creeping black and bark
between the seat of branches
and our hands,
trailing night’s dull promise,
clasped and bright and full.