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July 1, 2012, vol 8, no 2

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Michele L. Harvey


Wandering

On nights when moonlight washed the floor or nights when shadows swallowed everything, she came. I could hear her step on the stair; the heavy breathing as she paused outside my door. She would make her way into my bed, where snoring soon would sound an all clear. More likely then not, she'd be up again in a half hour on her way to somewhere else. I remained the silent watcher inside my closet door.

haloed moon
the acrid sweet smell
of alcohol




crane