Harvest Moon

Enigmatic, pale and weathered
Stepping across glades and marshes
Heightened arousal of senses
In fierce and brute force of winter
Every step a flawed odyssey
Across forgotten wasted valleys
Around swarms and shrouds of vapor
Fearlessly inhaling every single odor
Making it its own, returning it as another
The very air rushes to meet his pace
In hope of regaining his stout embrace

Plants and weeds dance in joy
In praise and honour to those
Crushed by his glimmering alloy
Trees bend and flail and sing
May their shade bind with his
And live forever within him

Gods bow down in gained respect
In their minds carved not to neglect
The fear that even a fleeting glance
Might arise his unquenched fury
As he assumes his daunting stance

But the expiration of winds is his
Chest, quietly breathing
The river’s incessant flow is his
Iridescent blood

The mountains are his armor
And the ground, his body
The sun, his eyes

The moon, his heart.