Silence reverberated after the storm,
a quiet acquiescence,
particles of life itself
trickling down an open palm
through closed fingers of thought.
Murmurs of past ghosts brushed
Infant like, lost in the dark of
vacuum as if searching for
a symbiotic mother,
some reason unknown
for weary travel to cease.
In the fireweed below long dead
present tenses stirred
shifted by the audacity of the visitor,
an audience of one
empowered with vision or delusion,
Machiavellian ideals of justice
It quietened after lightening passed
the watcher blinked
non-plussed with the beauty
of the dawns gentle kiss.
Ignorant of unfurling petals
between her toes.