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.

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