Quiet on a Hill

I close my eyes, my foot on a chair.

Pots clang. Time flashes,

bright and loud.

Could there be just me and the stars?

Me and my hands on dry earth?

My heart glows at the thought.

And I run, and I run from the noise.

And I run and hold tight to the sweet,

sweet moments of quiet on a hill.

Exhaustion is the arrow to peace.

Peace is the home that waits for me

always.