autumn in the womb

it's autumn in thy womb, Lady of Silence and Waters. It rains across your womb, Laby of Blind Fever. I am against while it blows alone, abroad, where woods of flames perish. your skin howls and whines, here, in the watery hours of naked timber, my limbs, undone, like grains into humus. the path, the footsteps, the broken tongues, uncreated breath, it rains overall. corpse is not the field where. do not weep, Lady of Autumn-in-me. do not weep but speak of leaves and call for birds that persist longer than the poem