30 September 2021

Nothing stirred, nothing shaken.
Skylight held stars in weighted grasp.
On the back of quiet trees eaves,
Stilled in an oasis moon cast.

A black cat lay on board fenced sleeping.
White sound wind longer opened the night.
A neighborhood pond mirrored as glinting,
Empty windows on a dying world.

Perhaps the end had long ago begun.
A banjo lay in the corner hall unstrung.
Two broken Skelton tennis raquets,
Sat statuettes on marble brackets.

All that moved was a mote of dust,
Leaving the trail of century aged rust.
Who would come to page this whole?
Life unwashed, once holding  fervored souls.