Poems from The Journey to Kailash X
Mike Allen / Wednesday, April 27th, 2011 / 1 Comment »
No One
I do not hear a tapping beside me at the window. I will not raise the shade. I will not see eyes there, silver with reflected moonlight, the same eyes that flashed outside the attic window as I peered up the dark stairwell three long nights ago. What face could have those eyes? It doesn’t matter, I tell myself. I did not see them. The scratching on the pane I hear is just a branch striking the glass. There is no tree next to my window, but listen how the wind breathes — it must have blown a branch down from elsewhere in the yard. The noise is relentless, but tonight I’ll leave it be, stay here in my pool of light, with my bookshelves and papers and the comforting sounds of my fingers on the keys. There is no need to indulge this growing impulse to reach out, tug the shade, unlatch the sash. There is no pale face waiting in the dark. No one is screaming. for Thomas Ligotti |
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