Songs

People gathered
To watch the sun
Melt into the horizon,
Chattering and laughing amid
Waving grasses,
Groaning frogs,
Crying birds.

Hand wrapped around a
Tumbler of whiskey,
She watched
Their silhouettes,
Heard their mingling,
Yearning songs,
The songs of change.

Tipping glass upward,
Drawing whiskey
Over her tongue,
She felt the fire
Move into her body.
She watched the light
Grow deep orange,
Burning red,
Straining against the
Movement of the earth,
Until it slid,
Helplessly into its grave
For the night.

People clapped and
Cheered the dying sun,
Then dispersed,
Looking as ghosts
In the growing darkness
As they left
To embrace the night.

Whiskey wet
Her lips as she took
Another deep draw,
Leaning back to
Eye the glowing,
Burgeoning moon,
Breathing in the
Sweet air of cooling evening,
By the soft shoreline,
And then she heard
The rising, powerful
Song of the night.

In the night,
There is no silence.
It is alive,
Loudly, clearly,
Without distractions
Or diversions,
She could now
Hear its music.