Elemental

Something in dirt, wind, damp grasses swaying at my calves pulls me in, and I want to bare my skin like a torch at every vista, a living conflagration above, among, open, a part, driving coldness from the autumn air and though, I swear your hair’s the same blonde as the grass, would swear that something fertile’s waiting to take root, winter’s settled in--- new snow making ashes of our fire and I search the hills to bring home some alchemy to regain what has become inert between us.