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where the night carries her silence,
her greys the bridging dome of sky,
her stones their blossomed ridge-

the moon’s half-circle bends
amid cloud, steps in
staccato, where the
stars can’t be seen;

i am less than the cloud
and the sky,
hardly breathing,
moon-ghosts in my hair,
moon-opals in my belly.
the stars lie on the water,
shimmer as night bleeds
all its blacks like a dark root,

summer’s yellows are now
forgotten, darkness chisels
water and sky,

blossoms stony and grey
like a colossal and
beautiful flower.
Listen to what people say,
Don't just wait to speak.
Listen closely and you'll hear
What it is they seek.

Listen to what people say
And hear the things they don't.
The silence in a pause alone
Will speak what the mouth won't.
maybe
vulnerability is
not trying to fill the silence,
and allowing yourself
to feel
 Jun 2019 CA Guilfoyle
John Glenn
I often color the sky
based on the intensity of love.

It can go from exchanging compliments
of sapphire, vanilla, and blue

to different degrees of purple,
black, and velvet hue.

Sometimes the richest combination
of orange, yellow, explosions of honey.

Oftentimes all shades of gold, bronze
plus all the colors of downy.

A careless mix of
pink skies in perspectives of blue

All paint poured to the sky
if the intensity's for you.
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