Fallow

Something is in the air

in those remote,

uncared for parts

those remote

untended to parts

that have lain fallow

too long

where seeds

recently sown

are beginning to take root.

They are beginning to take root

and shoot

tendrils out, out

down corridors,

into kitchens and shared bathrooms

behind brick walls

under wooden tables where beer

has been drunk

and spilled.

Something is in the air.

The yeasty smell

of fermented

something.

Is it the smell summer,

going off

as it breaks down

into darker days

evaporating off moisture

distilling

into

moonshine?

Something spilled

something sown

something unknown

tendrils growing

reaching out to the light

out of your control.

Summer is breaking down

on it's knees

begging to be relieved

of long days

and the heat

evaporating off

moisture

distilling

to

moonshine.

You pick up the scent of it.

Fermented.

It will preserve

that which lies in it.

And the seeds that have been sown

have now

grown into something

beyond your control

creep

creep

reaching up towards the light

soaking up

moisture

distilled

beer, spilled

under wooden tables

moonshine.

Fallow

no more.