silence is an earless solitary creature
without words alone in the damp eye of dusk

a red clock balances barren time even
if its long arm is short and bluebirds boast

words fly back to you like a memory
of winds blowing in circles catching leaves

hummingbirds hover backward when
cherished souls like white doves rise to heaven

love is a feeling I write, to embrace it
my medium molding, as it recites blue memories

thin parchment is the case of a grave
for sadness is written upon a buried vessel

finding solace in a hug of a white oak
a sunup dance with fairies in a morning’s mist

trees caring enough to clap for us
hoping we will stop the chaos and find a reason

writing is a reward, meek joys, and…