The Quiet

The world —

    its form;

its sigh
dying in
the figure
rounding
the corner
of the house
in the dark;

the firelight
dripping off the ledge of the night;

a life lived by a fountain;

     a body abandoned
in the bus.

    Moose hunters
in spring.
Cleared ways
are carved by the forgiving tide

and give the world
a canyon:

A space
between two shallow walls.

Quiet as a whisper.

Quiet as hope.