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Llyn Evening

Poetry > Individual Poems

sidles in on a mood.
A gentling of endings blurs
the edges of geography,
hangs out pale lights.

Wisps of ascending mist,
languid as incense,
invoke the dark coterie of hills;
spent hope easy with wilderness.

We trespass on absence,
how it's become landscape:
shored mountains of shale,
the rained-on loveliness of slate;

and deeper, further,
imagined voices
drunk on consonants,
proclaim the stone certainties.

But it is only the stillness,
how a land reclaims its silence.
Along the untended valley, light
lingers, flares—and slips away.

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