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The Calmative

            The Calmative

In forest, after the soft rain, a blanket of moss holds green
Holds water to balance the day with shade providing sleep
Woodland creatures know the soundless floor keeps secrets
As they step through the wet unfolding silence
Even the blue birds, flap a quiet wing while soaring by
Tranquility has no color, has no smell, or taste
It fills in the deepest well and falls just like a feather
On the forest ground
The calmative of nature forms 
A bubble around a troubled world
A yawn picks up where sleep left off
And when we wake we talk
We only say kind words
And only in a whisper, on a pillow of green moss  
Nothing gained, nothing lost
Then slip back to oblivion 
To the calmative deep in sleep

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