Equinox

Strange, strange days
between here and hearth,
we and worth,
were and wolf.
Between will and would,
shell and should –
should be more discreet,
but how could I?
Equinox is near,
and all the good men search for the
Autumn Queen.
Should I? Could I?
Autumn Queen is looking at me
through the pale September transparency
and northern wind is whispering
in her raven hair,
anthracite eyes starring.
Starring.
Stars.
Black stars,
extinct like black diamonds.
My Autumn Queen
has caught me naked
in my coat-de-arms.
Must I drop now
the foot from the stirrup-bar,
riding knight of Nevermore?
Should I? Could I?
But the Equinox is near.
Equinox is laying the borders
between now and then,
time and again.
Equinox is coming,
calling
the Autumn Queen
to the pa-de-cadence
with Lady Winter.
Decadent onslaught
in a strong equilibrium
between Ages of Gold and Ages of Cold
Steel.
Still, not stale.
Equinox is making the worlds equal
for the temporary death coming of age,
taming the terminator.
Equinox is near, all hands aloft!
Write on the sails
in the yellowish Indian ink
of the Indian summer:
Mene, takel, phares.
Light all your ships
to Equinox bonfire,
free the frigates at their last will
before Lady Winter
has shackled them in ice –
burn them all night
in the praise to the Autumn Queen!
We are the islanders now
in the land of tomorrow snow,
nothing more,
nothing less,
nothing else…
Stay with me.
Pray with me
for the Equinox to last.