A quiet poem, like a quiet pond
quietly sparkling in the afternoon.

A scent of rain just gone, of gorse
of heather, of apple blossoms
quietly basking in a quiet sun
about to paint a soft farewell
upon the sky and quietly dive
into the line quietly curving
beyond the pond.

A quiet hug under the canopy
of quiet hums instead of words
quietly written by the breeze
and later, fire, a quiet fire
of quietly gathered grapevine twigs.

Quiet alliterations, yes, in quiet images.

Like a recurrent dream of quietness
quietly forming upon my lips, as the quiet
deep wonder of breathing in this quiet air of love
awakens in the quiet readings and re-readings of your kiss.

And the night falls, quietly, around us
as if the quiet, darkened pond were now
a quietly overturned sky, going to sleep.

A quiet sleep.

© 2006 Alexandra* ~ OneLight*®