Every blade walked by,
a whisper caught in the fields.
Last night I thought
of trees framing a lost refuge,
leaves like circling hands, ensuring
all did not collapse away
to some imagined non-existence.
Grasses swam hush time around,
bent their fixed evening
my way, and then wild carpeted
in empathy once more.
Seemingly undirected
a night scene leaned in from above
and openly listened; each star
an acknowledging blink.
Past times in nature nodded black,
quite stopped me in my tracks
and I had to walk from here to there.
Every blade walked by,
a whisper caught from the fields.
