Last Bender

Equinox

the menarche of the dark
is upon the edge
among the trees
who hold their leaves
up to the light
and curl inward
till they redden

the sunflowers’ joy of crimson
hardens into grey
and the seed is pecked
till the stalk stands blind

the wet belly of the earth
squats upon the sky
and the heart pushes blood
into the bowel

fires of autumn burn
the first desire