Hours - Experiment

I.

Heart, your days demand
a bone from love, taken

from one's own chest to save. Love --

you are a giver's gift, a wayward's way,

a short harvest from long seasons of

well worn shovels, where beneath the dirt

your hours lay. 

II.

Heart, your love is for branches and bracken --
the blackened woods, by which your doorstep, keep.

Seek me out those hours

by which your branches sway and bend,

for it is by your wiles that I tread path by path

and I might know your cast of shade upon shade.