"Octoberand death is its own kind ofawakening andthe russet red-brown birdspick through..."

“

October

and death is its own kind of

awakening and

the russet red-brown birds

pick through the

dying grass and the sky is choked

in low leaden clouds-

here we are wreathed in the

birthing cold

here we are pallid in the waning time

and here we are

veined in the brilliant red made

from the miracle of

every paper-thin

death.

”

- L. Maruska (via whenthedarkisoldandworn)