Harvest

Contributor: Joseph Gordon Wilson

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Gravitation is not responsible for people falling in love.
—Albert Einstein


We lovers lie here this fall evening,
followers of a religion based on weather forecasts.
Our eyes flash like an ocean of fish.
The water’s slow dance creates Grand Canyons.

Shining through the flattened perspective of a pyramid of tree leaves,
a veil of green tears
rips at the light that catches the halo of the ice moon,
shining a moon bow on this fallen night.

Yet, we continue,
undeterred by happenstance,
like lies told to us as children to delude us as adults.
We commit to each other and are not sent away.

We peer into a cathedral of trees,
steeple tops pointing us into the ether,
a landscape of clouds.

Wind tingles through our spread fingers
like lightning rods, absorbing both
the strike of lightning
and the pounding of thunder.

We grow into our love,
from the gravity of Earth.

We ride the trance.
The moan of our lifting bond
pierces the blue evening range,
into the orange heart of a harvest moon.


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Joseph Wilson lives in the Seattle area. He recently earned an M.F.A. in poetry from Northwest Institute of Literary Arts, where he had Carolyne Wright and David Wagoner for poetry professors.