The light that pours forth here
within and between us
cannot stay here.
It is destined to keep expanding outward
beyond this cob-walled house
through the cold moist autumn New England full-moon night,
past the foggy fields thick with brightly colored trees
amidst the dance of their changing form –
one last hurrah as they let go of who they’ve been and
surrender the leaves of their bodies
as an offering to the forest floor
in exchange for new life to be given in the spring.
I watch you die your own death here beside me:
Composting the pain of your body into
new highways of sensation that reveals
a map of the galaxies woven into your soma.
Each insight into your microcosm
shines a piercing ray of light
through the shell of your body’s armor.
As you emerge –
upright and fluid, graceful in motion, clear in spirit –
I know that the light that pours forth here
within and between us
cannot stay here.
For this is not only our light.
It is the falling down and rising up of the trees each year;
it is the remembering and forgetting of who and what we are;
it is is the lightshow of our mortal selves
cracking open into the cosmic stars
that is both our core and our destiny.