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Cooing

The nocturnal owl
is haunting outside on the porch.
Cooing calls left for the weary
to decipher wisdom
from the night.
I sought to ask you,
smothered in darkness
as we were
if you could hear it’s calling
to you, to us.
Silence awkward
we slipped out the door,
spotlight off
blindly feel away,
lingering dark silhouettes.

I wondered what the owl,
perched high in its tree
contemplated quizzically
of the strangers approaching,
squashing the dark
with their whispers and feet.



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