Poetry
Shift
Visited by change
Change knocked at my door
She wasn’t always so polite
Coming howling to this house
Breaking into a silent night.
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She wears her cloak well
Bell of welcome or warning
The mauve of oncoming dusk
A sharp pin gleaming.
She covers the side table
Makes all shapes strange
A place is no longer a shelter
When change comes home.
Taking my cloak from the floor
Arms folding from sight
We are turning from the door
Into the deepening night.






