I’m listening to the night;
Hark, and you can hear it too –
Breathing round the corners of the house,
Smoky whispers from the yard,
Moaning in the porchlight.
In the dark a screech owl shrieks;
Tree trunks groan;
Afterward a lone dog barks.
There is a story being told;
I don’t know how it ends:
Or in laughter, or in tears.
©2014 John I. Blair
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