Night Song

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Photo by Usuf Islam

 

The mist
outside the door
is a whispering beast
grey, bodiless,
beckoning me
into its guts
for purposes I
can only guess

as I walk into the mist
the other inhabitants
of the house
watch my back
disappear
as if swallowed
by the earth itself

 

Robert Beveridge makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry just outside Cleveland, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Chiron Review, Guide to Kulchur, and Third Wednesday, among others.

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