It is as if she has one hand in the darkest dark
and the other holds an overripe pomegranate
in hidden warmth. It is as if the beech and the bark
are unable to see each other, as if music
stops at the edge of shadow, then in the green grasses
mouths move without hope or meaning. They wait to be pierced
by harp strings, they sing when cords quiver. An owl crosses
over, watching the limbs dangling fruit, then headfirst
flies back on wings made of mute, that shed sound as the wet
rejects oil. There is an enormous sound still unheard,
an enormous sorrow set on pause, ready to tilt
and cascade into the frantic arms trying to blur
the moments between gasp and guttering, cold and clasp.
Form: 13-line sonnet
Rosefire Rising 
Struggling a bit with this one – the silence of the dark reminds me of late night walks in a wilderness night (silent and peaceful) lots of noises at dawn ‘ birds, insects, maybe mammals waking up.
I struggled with it, too. I really did not like the prompt, at all. Makes me think I should have just ignored the prompt because it made me so uncomfortable.