Words at Dusk
the lights have left the leaves,
golden brilliance
turned out like a
glowing candle
quieted by the wind.
the leaves float and rustle,
voices, too, carried by the breeze
to this place atop a hill–
a slanted receptacle for sound
forcing it upwards
to my ears.
I’m hidden–He’s not.
I hear Him.
He’s here.
