From an evening, and many others, I’m sure….(working on a few little poems this week; good to listen to the older rhythms (like what park holds in evening) in turbulent times like ours, i think… thanks for your patience, as i try to listen to older things, like evening; helps me stay in Peace anyways) What evening holds….this one written in a european park we once lived near:

Evenings here, are matured. As when a park has listened to a neighborhood for generations and they know one another, and gathered all that conversation into the roots of her trees. Each bench holds in deco shaped curved steel what trees can only feel. Like the sound of listening itself, across many generations. Or two content lovers in a park, leaning into one another, just doting in wonder, endlessly. I’ve always liked the sound of listening. I’ve often heard it in my favorite paintings. Evening holds at least that much.