AN OPEN FIELD

A night song drifted past

weeping mid-summer magnolias

as it marks a pathways thru cool pockets

of air to an opening

where voices shadow whisper

weaving end day stories

to capture hearts.

Midnight calls without alarm.

Time has no respect.  A crescent moon

finds space between passing clouds.  The field

receives a carpet of silver.  A slight breeze

rustles treetop leaves.  The clouds close

the gap.  The field turns black.

Night regains control.

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