At the very least

…poetry arises
from the quiet of evening,
just before the light fades,
glimmer stretched onto a horizon,
where, once dissolved,
not even darkness is seen to move;
you are flowing through distance
receding neither behind
nor in front,
careless that your long gone,
but in the middle of something
somewhere and somehow
where silence is louder than sound,
and the power of what is said
is in what isn’t said at all,
even though the powerful owl
still cries who who who
to remind the world
that he means something
– at the very least..

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