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Visuals in the night without corrective lenses


I startle into awake,
the room dark, yet in the shadows
three figures gather by my bed,
three figures unmoving, unspeaking,
hands together, hands uplifted,
in prayer, in blessing, in admonishment?

Fog heavy in my head,
fear looms, patience thins,
I reach toward the nearest light.
A floor lamp with its wide shade,
one of the trio, a momentary comfort,
but what of the other two?
Angels, aliens, two Weird Sisters
with a Macbethian prediction?

Cocooned into sleep,
caught by a vague whisper
of a tangible
somewhere within.

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