It is quiet, Lord, so quiet
You can hear time passing. —Akhmatova
A sun on course, a heart
keeping time, a moon
lacing horizon.
Leaves still green,
halted rain, a hint
of chill. Wind roaming
its own path.
Perhaps tomorrow
your call will again gather them,
so when winter turns
to spring, rounds to summer, falls
again, we can
stand the beauty.
—Mid-American Poetry Review, 2004