Bearberry, Autumn

We know about grief, said 

the scarleted bearberry, densely thicketing 

rock to rock, twining with heather, avens, salix, wolf 

and blue. Surely you remember, it said 

reflecting a silvered sky and the antlered 

moss, paler than snow 

near its blood-stained skin. Listen, it said

with netted palms, casting a spicy wind: 

Harvest, let go. 

Harvest, let go. 

The sifting of it all reveals the glow. 

Watch 

as even the mountains 

are moved, vividly.