Listening to the quiet

There are at times, for me, when the day is 

ending and I have nothing left to give,

where I simply sit in the back yard, under 

the umbrella, and let the cool spring 

evening wind lift the sooty ashes off of my

face and shoulders

I do not know how they got there, well

I do, but I believe, that that is for another time,

when there is more time for a drink with an 

old or new friend, to get into that story about molten

emotions and burning desires that became too

incendiary for our own good

But if you were here with me

I don't know if I would be good company as

I have said my last words, spat my last emotions

and with burning fingers from your venom

wiped the warm emotions from my eyes

leaving rivers of lava along my face

Sitting in my back yard, with the cool April

wind blowing on my face, tempering the 

embers that were once the beating

muscle of my emotions, I sit and listen

to the quiet