Like Rituals

It will be the time of pomegranates soon,
days darkening
on the far side of Samhain,
while we comfort ourselves
with light from the stoves
or plump red seeds as moist as spring,
the juice, like rituals, fixing us
to this place.

Each germ of winter
eaten by the hearth,
tethers us safe
beside the fire’s warmth,
while the winds hiss,
howling out icy chants
and the rain’s weight
threatens to split the earth.