old sun new moon
and here we are
again
endings and beginnings
blooming full
in the light of forgotten
darkness is the edge
our eye is drawn to
bleakblank horizon
lined with trees
and trepidation
the air filled
with hope’s perfume
as if anyone could hold
the scent
of silence
on a morning
carved by will
and blind resilience
into something
resembling peace
or patterned joy
dancing shadows
on the wall
of blanket rhyme
and repetition
. . .
