The Quiet of the Night

Crickets. Breeze. Hums. Cool.
This is where the clamshell gently opens
Where billowing bubbles are released with a sigh:
And the ready world accepts
Tender truths which burst easily
So they traverse (in solitude)
The bubbles disperse or diffuse
The path isn't written yet
But most travel to homes
Which are in need of breath
Lungs who signalled with spasms: still
Blue cheeks who held on long enough
Let them be nurtured & finally fed
These transferences of ether
Gifts of energy & substance
Which recycle time and time again
The whispers which live on
And continue to sustain us

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