Hope has died
quietly
over the long stretch of an afternoon
Dove's wings and earnest eyes
it slipped into a pair of thin white hands
that closed over it without a sound

This is bones and smoke now
The fire, untended, is gone
Night came and took it for himself
his gentle black hands
reaching out from the sea
closed over it without a sound

There is very little left
steady breathing in the darkness
a single voice in the room
his dreams of hope and fire
and one pair of eyes closing without a sound

AcB 10.05.01