William Danes-Volkov
Cold Night
Stars silent in their appointed holes
Moonlight touching the poplar trees
Sheep quiet cudding in the barn.
And a naked girl dances in the old room
Where the boards creak and the curtains
Have not been closed for thirty years.
Not mine, not ever mine, she is herself
Dancing for ghosts that remember
The lightness of her body.
She presses her finger to my lips
Then disappears as clouds
Return the world to darkness.
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