The more we hear the more we turn
away from the voices carried from
beyond the horizon on broken winds
as each day chips away at the armor.
Thoughts scatter through the empty field
past the tree line and I stop at the border.
What inhabits the forest I cannot see or hear?
Days broken.
Trees hold the evening sky on fraying leaves.
Birds fill empty branches and the valley is alive.
As the sun falls into the horizon I am reminded that
each day comes to an end before beginning.
What took place today, what struggles we endured, force a reflection, a chance
to take a fragment of the day, a glimmer of hope, to carry into tomorrow.
