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January 2014, vol 9, no 4

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Francis Masat

Can You Feel Those Nights?

Sometime after midnight, I feel the darkness as if vapors weave between my extended palms. I hear a cold breath from a love long past. I embrace it only to find an abyss. My eyes speak through a wet days-gone-by memory. Within the sounds of unseen spheres, I sense the edge of time’s boundary. And just as I can no longer grasp the ever blackening black, there’s a silent grinding of the sky toward a graying dawn. I breathe deeply; I am, and I am here, but I know another night is coming.

stormy night ─
outlined our bodies