A flutter in your hands,
A downy brush, murmur of touch.
‘hush, hush’ you whisper.
And feathers brush your palm, your fingers, your cupped hands.

‘quiet, quiet’ you coo, in some gentle, soothing way,
Your mouth close to your fingers,
So the whisper moves in light; soft and grey.

You can see through some crevice of hands,
The frightened eye, the quiet heart,
Beating, breathing, some quiet trembling song.
‘quiet, hush, don’t be frightened, don’t be scared.’

While clouds are moving in some far off sky,
A stroke of bronze, and touch of frost.
And in some frosted field, some valley’s cusp,
some quiet bird takes flight,
in a pulse of life, a deep cool breath, a surge of bronze light,
Some quiet birds take flight.