Gravity begins in autumn
Everything that rose
Begins to fall
Begins to know its weight
I spent the summer reaching upward
Every leaf a question
Every branch a plea
Now the air is thinning into gold
And something in me
Wants to sink
Instead of climb
I spent the year becoming lighter
Believing light was freedom
Believing less was more
But in the stripping of the branches
I found the weight
Of what I'd given away
Returning to the floor
The earth does not ask
If you are ready
It only opens
And waits
I am learning
To fall
Without calling it failure
This is the harvest
Not of what I planted
But of what I am
This is the harvest
Not what I gathered
But what gathered me
I am not the scythe
I am not the season
I am the field
At the end of reason
This is the harvest
This is the harvest
I fall into the shape
Of what I am
I walked the rows of my old intentions
Rows I'd planted
Rows I'd left to rot
And in the furrows where I'd buried my confessions
Something small and green
Was reaching through the dark
It did not ask permission
It did not need my name
It grew toward
The only light remaining
The light I had not put out
The light I could not tame
The roots do not know
What the blossom promised
They only hold
And hold
I am learning
To stay
Where the silence deepens
This is the harvest
Not of what I planted
But of what I am
This is the harvest
Not what I gathered
But what gathered me
I am not the scythe
I am not the season
I am the field
At the end of reason
This is the harvest
This is the harvest
I fall into the shape
Of what I am
In the hollow where the frost has been
I found a seed
That had not died
This is the harvest
This is the harvest
I fall into the shape
Of what I am
Gravity ends in autumn
Everything that fell
Begins to root
Begins to know its weight
