Bearberry, Autumn
We know about grief, said
the scarleted bearberry, densely thicketing
rock to rock, twining with heather, avens, salix, wolf
and blue. Surely you remember, it said
reflecting a silvered sky and the antlered
moss, paler than snow
near its blood-stained skin. Listen, it said
with netted palms, casting a spicy wind:
Harvest, let go.
Harvest, let go.
The sifting of it all reveals the glow.
Watch
as even the mountains
are moved, vividly.
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