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–
the slant a 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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