Monday, August 25, 2008


Things left undone.
Like the winding of the clock, or
The latching of the gate, or
The sweeping of the cobwebs from the corners of the patio covering,
Like the changing of the bulbs, or
The words unspoken, or
The attention not paid,
Until finally,
When they had run out of time
She slipped out of the gate.
Leaving behind the silence, and
The sadness,
The dust, and
The darkness
And simply disappeared.

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