Autumn

Red-Gold, Igneous Leaves of the Great Work Poesy

I adore autumn.
The Great Work reaching
Its culminating zenith
In the heights of spiralling towers.
Trees whose green is, for a brief time,
Set ablaze,
Fused in union
With Red-Gold Holy Fire.
Before spilling to the earth,
Like a bloody sacrifice
To the winter’s black fecundity,
In whose womb lay
“The flower always found in the almond”;
The spring of the next cosmic breath.