This notebook is my canvas,
the backyard is my studio,
silent and still today.
Shards of rainbow shimmer,
winnowed there last night
by July’s brief squall.

Such peace denies mystery,
disentangles from enigma –

Once I hungered for the questions.
That moment passed,
not brilliantly like lightning
in a summer storm nor sorrowfully
like a widow dripping tears
on a sealed sarcophagus,

but quietly like a fading sunset
when day is done;
a day unlike any other,
any time.

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