i offer purple bouquets

rooted in the ground,
not dying, wasted, in vase or pot

this purple
reflected in your eyes, my eyes

monarchs married in our october gaze

we’re not long for this world, we, monarchs, asters, and crone

still, we feast, without any gluttony, waste or fear

one of us, prepares for honeymoon flight to Mexico

where marigolds and death await

later, birds with bellies filled by aster, will seed a known, unknown future

crone’s eyes full and clear, she sees it all, near and far, past, present, future, winter and spring

she is rooted too, laughing and grieving in the threshold

between death and the future, future and the death

between remnant wild and final ravagement

between time and anti-time

thousands of purple petals cascade from her crown chakra like asters //

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you remark how my eyes have changed since you last saw me, since you last really saw me,

the night we scryed in each other’s eyes, the purple first revealed

i tell you

how the Sun’s rays pooled in my pupils at birth flooding my dark blue eyes with golden light, which remind of sunflowers lit by streetlights at dusk

how the Sun’s rays leached from my eyes
with every loss, with witness, and with time, darkening them like the Lake under sliver of crescent moon,

how i knew to collect and store those shining saltless tears

for

the asters, a saucer for butterflies, vials for autumn’s rituals,

tears have untold uses, discovered only in suspended presence, in sustained solitude

with earth, sky, spirit

there, Self may be distilled

to essence

and re-membered.

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