From the shining green limbs of two tall trees
Fronds drop silently in the early night
Upon cold beds of wet, molient leaves
Unlike the one we shared when Heaven sighed.
None can claim to see the soul of the grain
When all of dream is life and life a dream
That drives me wearing Autumn's fall again.
For, then, the whole world lived inside, it seemed.
And though the room was small, the hall too wide,
We ran short-breathed, on tiptoed feet we danced
Where Time's lonesome quiver once more abides
And, as I write, resumes her awful stance,
   Renewing heartbeat's every measured kiss
   Lest, unspent, all should be forgetfulness.

It is here I met your soul's lonely road,
Set in chambered circles-- the dragon's den.
The vision came as the scream unfolded
Sitting concaved without the serpent's ken.
Secured for your surrendered resting place,
The dreaded breathing dragon set its claim
Upon visions torn from your cool embrace
And, as with old silence new words sustain,
Both you and it set me upon the Watch
Fixed me with vibrant pain, infirm, inert
That I must know how well it sets its latch
Upon the warm battery of your heart.
   It is here I know your bloodied veins stretched,
   Body meeting soul's path, a weakened wretch.

© Bev Braune