By one in the morning, the world has given uppretending it is awake. Streetlights blinklike tired eyes,the wind forgetswhere it was going, and even the cricketslower their voices. Only this housestill keeps watch. Its windows,black as crow feathers,stare through meinstead of at me. The porch sighsbeneath every breath of wind,as though someone unseenhas just shifted…

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