american farm

headlong

into your production

up at scratch every morning

intermittent flapping of eyelash

your ineffable ways 

like the moon but not a phase

ina daze you amaze 

every harvest  

#katyamills

into the cellular memory

she concocted a potion for the full

harvest moon. diatomaceous earth

stirred with baking soda

and water. to convey the spirit 40 million years

back when all cellular life was more

or less collaboratively 

symphonic

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skeleton

just some old bones strung together defyin gravity ona harvest moon. put a scare in the livin when the light was cast through to the wall. skeletons. good for a laugh and no trouble at all…until you discover who they once were.

ghost train

ghost train. revisited

Oh ghost train
what terrors do you hold
as you launch across the landscape
burning in the cold

Oh scarecrow
what terrors have you seen
hung up in a corn field
where the murders been

Oh October
harvest and the moon
colors of the
dying

now I light a candle
remembering the lost

so when they come
to call

in the dark hours
in the frost

see
them by
their shadows
playing

in the hall

Autumn is

A stretch of small city road, gone country under a blanket of fallen leaves. A crunchy bicycle ride over said dead leaves. A look all around and see colors. In a cafe, inspired to say, i love you, to yours, as you hold them by woven, heavy cotton and wool, at the arms just above a pale palette of wrist.

katyamills.com.       

Autumn was

What was this world where when autumn arrived…

How they harvested, by hand.
How they jammed the jam.
How they hunted the land.

Made wind chimes of bone.
Tapped trees for sugars.
Thanked the almighty.
Venison, quail, turkey and trout.

Facing the winter with faith and tobacco. Exposed to the elements.

Cooking the fats over a crackling fire, on irons they traded for pelts.
Chanting at sunset and dancing til dawn. Large fires contained within circles of rock.

Living a life ruled by water wind fire earth sun ice stars and great sacred spaces cast under moonlight ruled by the rhythms as of yet undisturbed and of wonders unknown.