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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