At Midnight

AT MIDNIGHT

The music slides down 

to a soft thrum, like embers

still holding their essence

cast-off memories,

past ventures.

Time to become empty

make space, wood-ash a bed

for new light,

inspiration,

more music.

Soon enough

the pace will increase -

new seeds sinking roots,

secrets seeking expression,

a desire to bring forth a song.

Enjoy the sacred silence

of winter's deep;

ponder patiently in the dark

before new light's voice

sings out its call.

Poem by Kaaren Whitney