Leaflight

Leaflight

At last the coal is in the grain of my fingers

and under my nails and the smoke works

into the roots of my hair

and the deep crispness of the young day new

and so slightly raw tingling like scratched skin

makes the morning’s darkness no so

and the leaves have been so burning as they fell so

sun and fire and age old red against the dew cleaned green

not yet made mulch by tramping feet

I could weep at it the joy the joy

the joy and the moon burns

with the leaves colours humming and singing

softly in the air it rises up

with stars and planets and everything is

everything is everything

and at last my hand holds an axe and my heels

a swiftness waiting lifting in my limbs and my hand

holds a leaf holds a water droplet

in the crease of its spine supple yet

supple yet the mist which holds

the springing deer the bleakness blue and green and brown

the washed land the pressed earth holds

warmth in my palmprint in my palm 

the lines of my finger

the lines of my father

the fire of the falling leaves

November 2012