Golden Age by Jessica Van De Kemp

The willow waters                 sun the colour of churned butter
a cornucopia:                 marigolds in mouflon horns
the cabbage whites stay within the night.

Burgundian red                 Chronus felt your death in Tartarus
moon phases, harvests                 time there is time here is time now.
The Mysteries reveal themselves                 in that place between

wake and sleep.                 You’re afraid to go and you’re afraid to give.
The leaves let us know that we will fall                 when winter comes,
the world won’t notice us.                 The world cares only who we are

in the fall.                 How many cycles have you lived
seventeen thirty sixty-six                 you have to live each life
for the first time                 every death is a new death

every god the first god.                 A lone mountain ash
the only thing worth seeing in the fog                 red berries
the colour of the earth the sky                 the scythe.