becoming

here, fingers intertwined,
yours are so cold
like branches of trees:
cottonwood, beech and birch
cast off your golden armor
and stand bare before me
as you, autumn's heart,
soldier of the falling leaves
embrace the frost.
voice of the fading light--
when your mouth closes
I will warm your thoughts
and fill the empty spaces with
silence: the sacrament
of the world you become--
here and now and when
you become everything.