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Vespers for the Unnamed
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When the last light folds
into the hem of the hills,
and the unnamed stars
begin their slow inventory of us —
I think of every prayer
that was never spoken aloud,
every wish held so close to the chest
it became a second heartbeat,
and I wonder if the dark
is not emptiness at all
but the gathered breath
of all those silent invocations,
waiting, patient as stone,
for someone to finally listen.
Suggested Reading
Wings of Fire
I ride the rays of sulfur, breathing in the streaks of infinity — a longing vision caught in the moment's glow.
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