Quietus In The Grainlight Poem by Fred Rik Kesner

"Quietus in the Grainlight"


The chaff falls without making a sound that lasts.
Between the beam of dust and the floorboard,
a second passes, long enough to drown in.

We stood in the threshold while the sun thawed out,
watching the horses turn their heavy heads toward the dark.
Nothing was settled.

The debt remained on the wooden table,
the ink dry, the signature half-drawn,
and the room settling into the cold, precise grey
of things that have given up their struggle.






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