Those Hours

Slow steps

across the ground,

heavy with past days

and broken sound.

Stars rise

over the hollow field.

A gentle fire

keeps its small space.

Tears slip

without hurry.

Even the gold sea

moves away.

Spring leans close.

A spark falls.

The world shifts

in quiet flight.

Deep inside,

a journey stirs

— unspoken,

but enough.

Home waits

past the final table,

where poems

flow again

into the dark.

.