Startle

Startle

Lisa Cooper

The birds have gone silent;
sensation held— bright eve,
native threshing bees, old
beings. The love-tarnished
stars die, high noble event,
and in sight, beetles hover
beneath, thrive. Godliness
beat; no light-shred in eves,
doth evening reestablish:
disaster be the novel nigh;
the birds have gone silent.

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Lisa Cooper
Poet & Theologian

 Photography by Philipp Pilz