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Carol A. Caffrey

Night Walk



I caress the walls of the house. Some of the stone is sharp and pointed. In other places it is round and smooth, like a woman’s belly when she is pregnant. A small piece crumbles in my hand and the dust floats to the floor where it merges with the past. Your voice is carried on the wind again. The stars are arctic tonight, the moon loath to shed her light. Tap-tapping down the curve of the road to the sea I listen for the ghosts who walk beside me. There will be no redemption tonight. The sea is almost mute, spent after making its ceaseless rounds to the bitter end. All endings are bitter, did you not know that? Carol A. Caffrey


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