Αθάνατος Συγκομιδή

“I live in the perpetual verdure of the globe.
I die in the annual decay of nature.”
-Thoreau, March 8th, 1842

Brown nursery blankets turn back.
Exposed. Yellowed skeleton teeth sing.
So powerful, so vital.

The tactile thrill in the feel of it,
Handfuls sift through fingers.
Falling at the dirty bosom.

Of Chicomecoatl, or Nidaba
Or Demeter, or You.
The name matters not.

Walking alone through a ripe field.
Austere dignity.
Deep imposing solemnity.

Both Mother and Maiden,
Both expired and ecstatic,
Differences indistinguishable.