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Fear

While the Lord is sleeping in the master chamber
Footmen file through empty rooms, their silver brooms
Straightening crooked corners, turning the eyelids
Down for the night. The body of black livery
Trails up the red stair, carpeted, uncreaking.
No one drops a mirror. No one breaks a pane of glass.
In the garden, azure has leaked into the well: no odor.
Beyond the woods, hounds go hunting themselves, while
Down in the river a deer lies on its broken face.

You should have known all this before you came.

–Monica Ferrell



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