theurgy
The Visitor Ed Higgins They come from the sky in pairs, mostly. Wearing invisible moccasins to hide their tracks. Or at least because the moccasins sometimes make them invisible. But I live alone and they know that. So they peer in at the windows of my trailer. Sometimes we speak through a screen if it is summer. But I never let them in. Even though they have faces innocent as a small child’s, their yellow eyes are like cats. Or the distant stars I sometimes gaze to.Â
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