In the Still of the Night


leafless birch trees stretch across the line

between the past

and the present.

Memories caught in between

slip through,

blossoming like moonflowers

in the cover of evening.

And there, below,

with time as my halo,

I bay

like a hound

mourning the day

“Night Howl” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

Artwork by Sarah Cruce

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