the detached

they came hungry
whining at the door
just above the pitch of the wind
in the spring and in the fall
in the evening
you could almost pretend you didn’t hear them at all

they came during the change in days
dragging bellies
stubborn or tired
with them, there is usually no way to tell which

they came with palms upturned
eyes rolled back into their skull
shivering and shy
because the porch light was on
and the scent of our daily routine
revealed us to them

i let them in
and fed them my bread
when it was convenient
i loved them
but they passed away like a snowfall
leaving me with the foggy, opalescent grief
of the detached

Moores Hill
March, 2014

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