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The Visit

Benjamin Miller

Like falling kites, the night came in a rush
Of feathers just outside her window, garnet eyes
Outlined by swaying trees. Pewter-slow,
Her throat contracted. Darkling wings unfurled.

Beneath the pinning sheet she shivered, knew
The door-latch was elusive, almost cruelly
Insubstantial. Soon the curtained glass turned
Delicate; the clock's hand, catlike,

Stretched and flicked a paper tongue.
Before morning came, a tapping.

Benjamin Miller

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