Monday, October 26, 2020

dread

These winds run riot

while illness crowds the walls,

banging through the dog door

sweeping clean the roof.

The animals huddle here

the light so soft and low.

We listen as the sky speeds down,

listen for a stirring or a sign

that the sickness doesn’t sleep,

some sound to replace this dread

gone to bed sick to wake up dead.

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