Sunday, April 28, 2013


March 10, 1978

My imagination
Shapes sound
In the night
The creaking plank
Outside my door
Footsteps climbing
Stairs I know
Are not my neighbor’s
Too silent a wraith
For souls for whom
Silence is a sin
And I huddle closer
To the storm for warmth,
And the soothing
Sound of gas
And it’s always
Enticing whisper of sleep.
Is that the door handle
I hear rattling?
Is that a stranger
Seeking to come in
Out of the cold?
Or seeking to steal warmth
I’ve already convinced
Myself to give up?
By the whisper
Of gas

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