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Michael William

(Toronto, Canada)


The night begins
as the crows
and stretch their wings
across the sky,

there is no moon or horses,
no ocean,
just the quiet rumble
from some distant highway
just the tiny steps of a gecko
along a wooden table,
the tiny sound of a voice,
a ghost
in my ear

I am sinking into
the night
under the watchful eyes of the
crow outside the window


we sit and no longer dream
of oceans
or hotel bars or the quiet
hum of some distant mountain
watching over our shoulder

we dream instead of distance
of distance
as abstraction, as a character of time,
as a mood
we are always in

we have left everything
but distance
and we sit beneath the bare bulb
suspended from the ceiling
like a caged bird
and trade stories to pass the time

the night comes on
like the eyes of the watchful crow
outside the window

Submitted: Thursday, February 20, 2014
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