Quietly bounding–a poem

The full yet shrouded moon

struggles to share its light

with the not quite wakened world.

Cold, wet diamonds dance

on blades of glass,

made of the same stuff

as those that are placed

into the settings of rings.


The rings speak of promises to

paths to this morning dew

and that moon,

and the house that waits

is old and creaky

and still so sleeping

that I have to be quiet on the stairs.


But you know me,

just a boy in the man

when it comes to stairs,

and my quiet sounds to you a bound

laid on top of the sound

of a dream-filled world removed from cares.

and all I can say is that I’m

going to try to do my best.


I promise.


As much as I hate to say it, I write most of these for me. This one is for my wife…but it’s really for me.




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