by Beau Boudreaux

Not a hint, a whisper of hair
candle-lit on the windowsills
for once, the stairwell swept

so fair, down___the comforter
an enormous aquarium
and the dishes done by hand

dogs out into the wet
as you forget a necklace
on the nightstand as if

by stealth one sees
between banisters
the way water beads

I knife a path
through unfamiliar rooms
making no noise.

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