
Between Pendulum Swings
The house settles into its bones.
Floorboards whisper hush
to rusted nails that remember.
Even the clock’s heartbeat
dims to a moth’s last flutter.
You, love, are the quiet
between pendulum swings—
a pause so deep it forgets
how to return.
How to wake.
Written for dVerse Poets, Quadrille #244 including the word “quiet“. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2025.
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