awakening gradually, peacefully
  into an evening's misty shelter--
    copper nestling between the firs
     in the ridge beyond . . . 
 glinting a silent echo,
   tracing a million paths 
    from a valley's dusky complexion--
    a liquid horizon to behold
a gentle warm licking of a boat below,
   rising and falling--
    a rythym to match our own--
  only a ragged blanket 
    to challenge a night's promise . . .
  wordless whispers, silent longings
    come home to us,
  welcoming a drenching rain to come . . .