Ours was the burning, the autumn love,
born on the morning the maples caught fire,
pointed tongues of scarlet and copper licking
at the sky. His sharp teeth closed
tenderly upon my neck; under our claws
the grass crackled dry and gold.
Later he dragged trinkets of gold
into our chosen cavern, odd tokens of love
scattered across cold earth. My restless claws
clinked and rattled; a hundred shrunken fires
blossomed with my breath. We huddled close
against the chill of winter licking
at our bones. I shifted, irritable, and licked
the cracked skin of my swollen belly. Gold
makes an awkward nest. He hovered close
despite my temper; I wondered if he loved
me, and what that might mean. I dreamed of fire
and roar, flight and breath and teeth and claws.
In spring my children were born. Tiny claws
pricked like thorns as they nuzzled and licked,
suckled and tumbled and kindled a fire
in my heart. Outside, dust danced gold
in slanted pillars of sunlight, and this love,
I thought, this love alters everything. I closed
my eyes but I could smell him still: too close
sang the old warning in my bones. My claws
flexed; my wings spread protectively. Go, love,
I told him, go now while you can. He only licked
my chin, crooning, and gazed at me with eyes gold
as birch leaves in autumn. I swallowed my fire.
But I watched him, wary yet, while the sun's fire
lit the lengthening days and heat hung close
and heavy upon us all. I saw the golden
eyes narrow to jealous slivers, and when he clawed
at my boldest son I was ready; my flame licked
across his face before he struck. So passed our love.
My lover burned black under my summer fire.
I licked my brood, curved my tail to keep them close,
and dug my claws in deep among the ashes and the gold.
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