Sunday night, early June

how the silence grows, lives,
takes form and shape in the air -
rain patters on the roof window
more water for the sodden ground

light outside has fled
behind the mountain, dark clouds
scud and cover us

lights pool the room, red shades,
white points at my electronic
screen - a book - always
the same size with only
one page

on all my surfaces dust glistens,
output from the stove,
falls softly through the silence
silts my heart
with quiet, all my thoughts
spooling out into the dark

to the wet grass standing
at the hill's foot, black
stones unlit by no moon
a harvest gone so soon

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