The music finishes.
It is the quiet of night
Broken by the ticking of a clock,
the hiss of rain,
the growling of a distant car.
The silence of this interval
is not for doing,
not for resting
But to wonder in;
A vulnerable silence
given back to us.
Your Light alone -- like mists o'er mountains driven,
Or music by the night-wind sent
Through strings of some still instrument,
Or moonlight on a midnight stream,
Gives grace and truth to life's unquiet dream.