The dead dog barked in the night #68

Eyes closed.
Words drop.
Snow.
Gathering untouched,
over absent steps.
Where once you walked.
The stranger,
a sculpture cast by my own hand.
Hunched black against light.
Back-arched and broken.
The past peering in through my window.
 
It taps.
 
taps.
 
taps.
 
 and makes the dead dog bark in the night.
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