gray as a stone slab
is comfort to the winds capering 'round
the hard edge of stasis--
the fingers of air caress the rock heart--
the final fixity of this mode of being
lies in the joyful stillness of subsumed memory
and experience into the last view of ribbed red sundown--
the dense night falls over the last echoes of scattered leaves--
peace in the bare branches tangling upward the soft sky--
Content (c) 2008-2009 Philip Milito.
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