Before the Dark Days Settle

By A.E. Bayne

Beyond the half-shade of the autumn wood,
a silver dollar sun weaves a drunkard's dance.
The air breathes through us
clearing hot humid thoughts,
and sets 'round, all smoky logs and ash leaves.
Jackets zipped to the chin,
hoods clasped tight around ears,
we trudge through the vocal foliage.
Cracking and snapping, great arthritic bones
forest speak.
Before the dark days settle,
before the great Earth slumbers,
walk with me down the mountain
until the dull moon is a wavering wedge.
Hold me with your tongue
that forms the most of my desire,
I seek your linguistic touch.