They

He pulled. Felt her hand in his. Remembering her taste. Her smell. The way her body cleaved into his. His into hers.

Mustiness. 
Earth. 
Wonder. 
Urgency.

The earth crumbled around him. It matted his arms, legs and lower back. 

His hair. 
His beard. 

He sat up. Felt the dull ache, the throb of life to be given fill his awakening being with her. 

To her.

She could see him now. Lifting himself out of sleep. His own dream wrapped around him. She released his hand, reached over and kneeled beside him. She cleared the soil, earth, pebbles and stones from his  feet, his legs. Saw his rising. Spread her warming hands and cleared away the earth and winter from his torso, his arms. 

His eyes were still closed. She caressed his face. His beard. And combed his hair with her fingertips. His breathing, before, once shallow in intervals of time, slow and season, deepened as he trembled with the beginnings of power that infused him.

His eyes filled her soul with his form. Half known. Half remembered. A sense of knowing and possession filled her heart and senses.

They joined as the sky lifted.He the earth. She its Spring.They pushed and pulled and bound and knotted the spaces born in life and time between them. 

A circle of birds arose. 

Like leaves re born from yesteryear. They too combined in runes and patterns remembered long and hard, instinctively opening, outside, inside, and up and to the light above them.

And in memories, coupling and murmurations, she and he, the two,  entwined again and again, the great pulse of life, 

Again and again, they lifted seas and sons; the cycles born of time and place between them.

It began to rain.

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