Life With Horace

poetry & essays

night silence

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in this old house
the winter night
is many things
but not deep quiet
never utter stillness
both conceits of
humans in retreat
with us at rest
it moves and breathes
in darkness
sighing wood and stone
the whine and snore of dogs
feet twitching gently
as they dream
small colonies of mice
sensed more than heard
remnant memories
within its walls
merge with the energy
of word and color
line and shape
collected and held close
to make this much loved place
and so I head for bed
the last light gone
leaving the plants looking out
at the night
to watch the snow fall

Author: Life With Horace

poetry & essays

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