Words leave my limbs Little arcs of intention and electricity Scattered ahead of winter winds Blown halfway round the world As if by chance Banging your screen door Whirling in your garden Ashes from the fire I set last spring The votive plume My signal Comes to earth As you watch Flickering on the screen Summer leaves form patterns Tell stories Yerba Mate in hand Pampas grass waving The torched laurel beckons An electronic wind gathers sparks Lifts the ashes in its palm Carries them into the heavens To dance for you Around the willow tree In the blue light of autumn I’ll be calling at your door Silver leaves in my hair Fresh from stirring the ashes That so recently warmed my limbs As I find the small of your back Turning you at the waist I recall the fragrance I know what I feel As you slip Between the lines And into my arms