the song

in the bowed strings

of a day

the consonant braids

with the dissonant

the whole

sees its mirror

in the part

and the song

that is the passage of my soul

through this world

melds

seamlessly

with all others

in a place

defined entirely

by silence

~

"music is the wine that fills the cup of silence. "

robert fripp

visual prompt provided by tess kincaid at magpie tales

closer

charles sprague pearce solitude

each small puff of dust at footfall

the hovering hush of late-summer grass

all the feather borne spectral threads of birdsong

are like bookmarks

holding the page

containing the revelation

small birds

andrew wyeth wind from the sea

small birds

and tiny flowers

etched like frost on the waving silk

-

pale grey birds and flowered shadows

chase

around her candlelit room

-

rutted parabolas

mark the route

of his departure

across

the pale yellow field

-

her eyes

find the dark corners