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a flushing breath
of starlings
spread to crease
an eastern sky –
the tepid glow
where gathered me
to dawn

crickets sigh
in serenade –
of afternoon to eve
a quiet ne’er the same
as you recall

seasons mark the
of yesterday to flight
to evermore –
as I remember well

the tender ring
of silence spent –
days and weeks
no differ
than moments kept
to echo
in my heart

. . .