I’m slipping this one in, a rapid sketch for the dverse prompt, before I go to bed. It’s been a busy day. I’ll be back to read tomorrow. Might even write something more coherent.
The wind is blue
like the grass at twilight,
by moonlight, in summer,
when the air trills with cricket songs
and the ghost pale cry of the tawny owl.
to the darkness creep,
the shadows spread,
and the things we see or not,
and the things we say or not are nothing
in this blue and dimly glowing night,
where the stars look down, or away,
and the universe slumbers.