harvest moon

witch-hazel outside
when over hallowed hills the wind
casts summonses to nightshade wand’rers,
who cackle along stealth-sheathed trails, darkly
following the favored grey-hilt wind and shriveled tithes
let fall to dusky ground, when with draped web sighs
the air roves, deftly twined
with silver halfling sorcery
and raveled, crinkling time.