falling as one

my mystic keens
his secret night aches
heard
in the rustling
tenderdrop leaves
and
in the windblown pine
of his beloved wood.

erect, he stands alone
deep in the wild
searching
for
an echoing answer
an echoing answer
knowing they are only heard
in the thin precipice
of dawn

it is there
in his tearsoaked soul
the kneeling spirit weeps
her song of love
unburdening him
with her soft unspokenness
her lips open to
the spilling of his desires.

he falls into her moist tears