A MUTED WEST

The sky in the west was muted at sunset.

 

There was no gold nor blue – only silver and grey.

 

It was easy to stare at the heavens
for the sun was inhibited and not bright
and could not melt the clouds to peek at the earth.

 

Suddenly a gaggle of geese flew by —
only visible as silouettes
momentarily dismantling the silence.

 

And then another – and another –
all going north in little groups –\
eight or ten at a time –
so fast I could scarcely count.

 

By the time the dusk
diminished the streaks of silver and grey
no more birds appeared.

 

There was nothing left for my eyes but darkness
but there was much within me to offer praise.

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