a bright red mud

the bright echo of a summer's thrill
reflected in and of
a golden glut of harvest's wrecking
bloodred jewels
hang pendulous from limbs
denuded through shine
while a stark blowing wind
chases dried husks across scarred mud

there are two dimensions
to the rays from upon high
two halves to the hole
that blind with repetition
two worlds that co-exist
in that burnished rut we stand

the dark sight and lush light
flicker faster and brisk
the litany of white and shadow
love / death
lost to open
through these bright bursts abound
on this shelf left out alfresco

and please take note....
that blur of obliteration that canopies?
that is but a numbness of soul
a recapitulation of capacity
where neither sensation nor it's contrary
has elbow room to glow