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Death is sleeping gently
Outside the window
Holding vigil with us
As the baby tosses and turns
Tangled up in fate
Some mornings rays shine in clean and clear
Other mornings the light dims
Mottled and blurred by nose prints
Left from her watchfulness
She sits patiently
Holding her post
As threads
Wind and weave
When they pull apart
Like spider webs brushed by a shoulder
She opens her old, strong arms
To catch and soothe the spirits as they
Stumble
Lost without a body
Some mornings
I nod to her and carry on about my business
Other mornings
I press my face to the window
Peer out
Eyes squinting
With equal parts
Malice and gratitude
If his ties begin to bind and cut
Torturing
I will rap on the window
Call to her and
Nod
I hope that day will never come
But now I know her
I felt her fingers on my shoulder that night
And was oddly comforted to know
We are not alone
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