Harvest 

 

The torc binds with a loop of harvest sunshine 

Summer brought to heel; 

A focused intensity of lingering heat 

Pulls us back together. 

Sweat beads roll as we heave on twisted threads, 

Bending sickled sheaves to our will. 

The salt that slips round a curve of breast, 

The dust that kicks to rim lips and lashes, 

The air that bends bronze round body and soul; 

The day tapers to a close, turning your hair to amber, 

And trapping me, moth-like, in a rising red smudge of moon.