Still quietness under night’s stars
Quiet reflections beating on the shore.
Smoke and smoldering orange rise
into darkness—of course they do.
The fire rages in pops and breaths,
telling all we didn’t.
Words we’d hidden deep in sound
rise 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 enough
that silence no longer is a failure
and 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 moment, that’s enough.
