Silence that can speak,

The hush of a million different lives,

paused by deaths sweet sister,

eye's that drink the nights open blinds,

allowed the sight of light beyond memory,

the wandering way that never truly ends,
simply picking up where feet left off,

when all the whispering wind comes calling,
pulling or pushing to steer and stir,

catching the scent of past and present,

hiding from a future that darkens the door,

in this time of slumbering cities,

there can be found few alone,

slipping through the empty streets,

blissfully strolling in the witching hour
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