Passengerside

I am wrapped like a cocoon

warm, in love.

My body moves toward birth

covering me in rest until that hour

and perhaps even through.

The dusky cool fingers of

an approaching autumn’s breeze

comb through my hair

and brush my face

like a loving mother and grandmother

calling my blood

to settle down

and my lungs to take in deeply,

my eyes to shut,

my head to tip back in receptiveness.

I am taken care of.

I am seen and loved.

The gilded sky sinks slowly

in the distance behind

dark silhouettes of tree lines,

oaks and pines,

pulling down with it

a curtain of lavender and navy

over the stage of our neighborhood,

showering night-lights of countryside stars in its wake.