Floating, weightless, intertwined,
Sounds in the street below, mimicking heartbeats.
Heat breathes, invisible on skin,
As the sun burns an arc on its world.
^ ^ ^
The sense of motion, outside and in,
Trucks move, weaving through spaces.
Temperature swings, a primitive metronome,
Cars burst onto avenues, pace quickening.
A stillness envelops a sacred place,
While outside the sun begins to fade.
^ ^ ^
Darkness settles in,
An eclipse.
Stillness propelled to act,
Sun penetrates the dark,
Thrusting its power and heat upon the earth.
The motion not yet subsiding,
^ ^ ^
The sun finds its way upon a doorway arch.
Sliding through the pitch veil,
A sliver of light becomes a flood.
About the Creator
Brent Tharp
I edit STEM books. I like writing, cats, and wine, though not necessarily in that order.
I was raised by wolves in a small forest somewhere in Middle America.
Why don't ketchup bottles squirt correctly? All or nothing seems grifty to me.
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