This warm night drapes
Itself around my shoulders.
A breeze dances across oak
Leaves and through copper
Chimes, as these cicadas sing
Their evening lullaby.
And the glow
From the moon, for me
In this moment,
it is enough.
Gone is that earlier daylight
And that need to do,
That need to have,
That need to be.
Silence is often too loud
And words on paper too forced.
Yet tonight I am reminded
That it is in this struggle
That I find poetry,
And in this silence that my voice finds me.
Somewhere beyond
The noise, in a whisper,
I hear my voice.
Like poetry that can never be mine,
It dances around me,
On these oak leaves
Beneath the glow
Of the moon. It sings
To these cicadas and then
It is gone.
