The upper world ablaze
Quiet trees in slow-simmered murmur
Hissing death in brilliant splendour
Remembering the Crucifixion
Green grown dark, blood-red,
With royal golden crown
The pruned and manifested light
Glorious surrender from a green-steeped life
And falling with
Height-drunken and subdued ballet
They sink into the brothy history
My own rich and layered seasoning
Becoming muffled testimony
Of that most-stretched reach,
The branching death and Life-thawed birth
That beckons all
Whispered staccato of rain falling
And changing of old guards
From firefly evenings of loose-tied cloths
To a weaving of the grayer cocoon
Where we will draw close
With communion once again
By fireside and thick warmth
Humming our anticipation of emerging buds
In high strung breezes
In crawling golden afternoons
Of woodsmoke and God's own confetti
We find the oldest song of love
Jillian Rose
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