Hollow boned and feathered   she fell to him,   wriggling perdition she plucked   from deep within.   Feasted high on flowering branches   the fruit of his heart he gave willingly   for her song.      From fresh wounds   were gathered thick sheaves of love.   He lay open palmed to her world:   she stretched in arched abeyance,   holding thunderclap and starlight in one mind.      Sad to see the season go.   I'll miss the crackling of the air,   the loss of all I know.   Sad to see the season go.      Indian corn and the bitter taste of envy in the air.   Mired now in cyclic decay.   The nag of conquest.   Skeletal arms   embrace a withering world.      Sad to see the season go.   I'll miss the crackling of the air,   the loss of all I know.   Sad to see the season go.      Locked here these dreams of you,   imperfect dormant seeds.      There is a dignity    to this solitude,   a sparkling ambiguity   both liquid and solid at one time.