written by: Ron Kempton
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 hoofbeats
Between the words of the windy moon as she carries on her oratory
Forgetting her lace, playing catch me if you can
With every moth, cricket, and firefly 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.