Quiet Nights of Quiet Stars

3 Feb




Two seconds before

the wild wind exhales

through the woods

an uncarded woolen weave

of green bramble and bush

into indigo evening,

to touch the tops

of the tall August grass,

their whispering tips

like a tickling fringe

of hair

brushing the back

of the coming night,

shivering into freckles of light

that dapple the skin of the sky

to whisper

mi corazon.

Only this,

a breathing breast of

blood and bone

can match

its silent heaving

still beating.



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