Quiet

         The quietness of the morning falls around me
         Like a silent shroud
         No birds sing
         Nothing moves
         Even the leaves on the tall dark Maple are still.

         Flat roofs sit sill in anticpation of the late Fall heat
         Red brick immobile in time
         Stands like sentries on a small town street
         Watching the cracked asphalt
         Run southward to the Bay.

         Beside me an old dog looks up pleadingly
         With rheumy eyes
         A plaintive look of age and pain
         Not comprehending his impending
         Doom.

         All is still.

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