Soundless

The damp sheet of August lifts,
billows from my legs.
I still the ceiling fan.
Later, I wake to crackling silence
and miss you for the first time,
though only the air has changed:
first fall night.
The fan that beat a rain rhythm all summer
leaves, now, a desert stillness,
drought of motion.
Grasshoppers that sang in its blades
rest dust-winged;
the rattle of summer's revolutions
winds down, a weathercock rusting in--
no wind.

back to Departure:
Original Poems by Kelly Vaughan

by Kelly Vaughan
Aug. 1998