Cold cheeks and knuckles will rap against root and bark
As if to ring in this new time
In what is hollow, we find the whole
The great rotting of the summer hoard
The transfer of all energy to the silent kingdom
Masters of death dancing
Stagheaded mushrooms
Feasting on the waste of summer
Which seems naive now
Childishness has left
The havest had been in play too long
The fields are barren and stripped
Hollow reeds rise from churned earth
And snouth and teeth and bristle will rifle
Through the wet layers of burned up leaves
I have hoarded all I can
But cannot stop this mold and mildew and the must
There is no more fruit to pick
I have to catch myself now before this all decomposes
To continue would be like peeling off my own bark
The same tree that bore sweetness and joy
Now is the time to grow wild, untamed, unpicked.
