What’s that noise?
Footsteps on the gravel path? But it’s past
midnight, no one comes down the path at midnight.
A deer?
He stands by the window and peers behind
the curtain, but it is too dark to see anything so he steps into his slippers
and shuffles to the front door and steps outside.
There are no stars.
He looks up trying to see the clouds and
something touches his cheek.
The touch is soft, like a lovers finger
tip.
It hasn’t rained for two months.
The ground cries out for her.
His cheek too.
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