jonmatthew photography

audio: Haunted
audio of Brenda Morris's poem, Haunted

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The scene repeats, always with variations—
A gate, a door; the path between, oblique.
As evening masses its mute accusations

and black intrudes on purple's permutations,
a face shows at the pane but does not speak.
The scene repeats, its subtle variations

like patient fingers testing combinations:
A path from gate to door, a door's faint creak
blending with the evenings accusations.

Along the fence, a wild proliferation
of thorn and feral bloom, a funeral reek.
The scene repeats with minor variations—

A floorboard's creak, the hall's slow inhalation,
a presence at its depth—Upright. Antique.
As evening masses its mute accusations,

the moon rises, a gibbous aberration,
and black contracts around one crimson streak.
The scene repeats in all its variations
as evening masses its mute accusations.