*
no wind moaning
no shutters flapping
.
doors standing still
in the darkest night
.
heat rising piercing through
as light enters the crack
.
at daylight no crickets
or frogs telling stories
.
just the heavy stillness
of some summer nights
.
away from breezed seas
laying awake interspersed
.
.
*
the best of all
times comes when
I such enjoy
stillness I do not
.
need words to describe
fullness, feelings
lined up nameless
do not need
.
recognition sounds
afar as on my shoulders
sounds near so close
blood runs and cries
.
such as the earth
sights for water
received deep down
welcomes it so are
.
those wonderful nights
spent waiting
having it all
.
.
*
.
images are but
borrowing from reality
which needs to express
inner pulsions
.
words are but knitting
of thoughts not
yet fully born
savory ephemeral
.
.
stepping stones
are my favorite
to advance
from the inside out
to a nicer view
.
from the outside in
for a more intimate look
as long as
even silence
is a traveling motion
.
.
annamosca 