Saturday, March 17, 2018


Simple quiet
Like trees as they tiptoe across the velvet wings of the rising
Lastly each roll of silent crisp galaxy
Turning hushed whispers into a final gaze
 Just beyond the edge of distant hoof beats
 Between each word of the windy moon as she carries on her oratory    
Forgetting her lace, playing catch me if you can
With every moth, cricket, and fire-fly waiting on her open arms.
Stitched into seams, whispered rustling,
Sighs longing to touch that brief second
When moments hush the world and each breath falls silent
Owing to the life that’s lived between the twist of the second hand and 
the Last moment of starlight.
Simple quiet
Ron Kempton 2016

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