Those Hours
Slow steps
across the ground,
heavy with past days
and broken sound.
Stars rise
over the hollow field.
A gentle fire
keeps its small space.
Tears slip
without hurry.
Even the gold sea
moves away.
Spring leans close.
A spark falls.
The world shifts
in quiet flight.
Deep inside,
a journey stirs
— unspoken,
but enough.
Home waits
past the final table,
where poems
flow again
into the dark.
.