Still quietness under night’s starsQuiet reflections beating on the shore.Smoke and smoldering orange riseinto darkness—of course they do. The fire rages in pops and breaths,telling all we didn’t.Words we’d hidden deep in soundrise up like they’re looking for second chances. The wind behaves as if it doesn’t hear.It’s practiced at that.So are we. But maybe that’s the point—to stay here long enoughthat silence no longer is a failureand starts to sound like peace. Maybe not.But it’s warm, and nobody’s screaming,and the stars don’t ask questions.So for the…