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The cats stare me down with nervous indignation.

These twilight hours belong to them.

I am a trespasser treading delicately into the unknown as

Jack swipes his loveless fingers through the air,

dancing on everything he touches.

My heart slows as thick frost forms.

The moon has turned her back on me with angry

turmoil as she watches in slow motion the

contents of my fractured dreams.

Again and again.

The repeat button jammed, thoughts caught in a hyphened loop.

I cannot hear above the

broken hum of the fridge freezer.

Same tune different day.

Darkness engulfs me, so dark I can

taste it’s bitter tincture against my tongue,

escape is futile.

I hear the tangled scrape of nails against

fabric as the cats prepare to defend their

eyes locked onto mine.

These twilight hours belong to them.


Karen Hayward ©2016