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The house is quiet empty
Nervously I await your coming - or not coming? -
through this night
A mystery - not taken for granted
Like a folk story a children’s story
“Over the hills at night she came
through the dark through the storm
past the crashing shore
along the wind-battered cliffs”
but real
Sometimes the words don’t come
There are no words for such times this
the house is neat for your arrival
our kiss and touching
beyond words
From The Yellow Crane No 10 (Summer 1997)