Sunday, February 21, 2016

Evening in the Coppered Hills


Your fear of not being
Makes you intimate with stones

And your fear of missing
The slow movement of shadows
Their quiet breathing
Their whispers
Makes you kin to silence

Insects pause at your hunting boots
Nothing’s out of season


2 comments:

Unknown said...

Lovely and haunting... it wants to be read again and again. Thanks.

Murray Shugars said...

Thank you for the kind words.