The universe, at 3:30 am’s desiccated depths
Beamed down the evanescence of a million fading stars
A muted, inscrutable forest treeline
Within which dormant night’s silenced, birds and animals dwell
The opposite of a world where silence
Is banished through an abundance of noise
Take out your earbuds when running through the woods
Indeed, don’t run, accelerating your passage through a wise reality
Accept Nature’s purest music
Without deafening your ears with
Urgent podcasts broadcasting a tree-huggers’ gospel
In a reminder that, come day’s end
Who will have heard of Tolstoy’s daughter?
Only the works remain
Neither his dinners, nor the offspring