November 8

comments 8
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The standoffish cat
is asleep now, doubly

distant. Behind
the hanging blinds

is an unlit lot.
The only things

that move are branches,
and the second hand

of the wall clock
that isn’t turned back

yet. No balmy night,
no quiet stars, just the hum

of the refrigerator
and a glass of water—

the wind isn’t enough
to stir me, no,

so here I am still, alone
and in love

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8 Comments

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