Becoming Bracken

In the dulled Autumn dusk we crawl to our knees,
And forage our way through the bracken,
Roots fall from our fingers and the blades
cut into our skin,
auburn blood.

From lost to light on the earth beneath,
The gingered ground holds us for what feels like an eternity and
in spouts of energy we pull ourselves from the brick.
But the copper leaves cling to us
to bring us back to the soil, back to the mud.

I lay upon my blackened back as
you pick the rust from my teeth,
And the glowing embers from my sleep.
But still
our bodies dissolve to dust.

Over time we can no longer fight it, the terracotta has become us
and we seek shelter in their russet. The calm slate suspended above us,
Our bronzed flakes sprinkle amongst the
amber fern,
And we sleep here until Autumn passes,
the ground burnt.

In the Winter we are killed by frost,
But our seeds have been sown
ready to become the bracken once more,
In another season of another life.