When the River Went Away – Take III: A Gothic Halloween

A half open window

Buffeted by wind

Creeping through doors and cracks

Of a hollow house standing tall

In golden seas:

.       Hosts of October’s departure.

.

Wind shuffling papers off a dusty table

Scattering and sliding along dark wooden floors.

.

On the table, the long swoop of her fingers

Catches the last, late sun:

.      Bony knuckles in pale skin.

.

Little games the wind plays:

.     A back door slams shut,

.      Sneaking open again.

.

Her eyes, silent and empty:

.    A blank stare across fields of time

.     Become rusted playgrounds.

At just the right angle:

.     Sparkling. Just then.

.

She’s sat here for a hundred years:

.     Maybe longer,

Beside this window to the wind.

.

Messages, there are none

Until a warm gust,

Catching her grey hair,

.

Sprawled fingers curl then loosen

.

Warm tidings rippling through the grass

Knocking on a window

Where she’s waited for so long.

.

On a gust, the door flies open

Like a deep breath through the rooms

And for just a moment

The faintest, sweetest smell,

Like wispy memories of life,

She thinks.

.

Now the sudden hush of stillness.

.

All so warm and easy

This tall house, leaning on years

Fingers grasping for the last of the light.

.

And the warm, sweet smell of her passing still lingers here

As October’s stories scatter across dark skies and warm winds.

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