The jug on the table is still dripping. Someone’s just poured some water. The glass is overflowing. The flowers, dry, have lost their rosy hue. The milkman has been here. The taxes are due. Life’s long-lost positive outlook won’t return on a day like this. There’s mud on the boots in the hallways. Outside, you can hear screaming kids. Letters from lovers past are all neatly tucked away in the drawer. The stapler is golden, the boat is on shore. A sand trail mixed with blood from the door to the bathroom leads the way to an empty tub. Sheep are grazing on the pasture. The boat is back on water, it’s high tide. A solitary daisy is garnishing the mirror. Emptiness fills the house that doesn’t know who the killer is. The flowers are wilting. They want to know who the killer is. The entire village is on the suspect list. From the church tolls the knell. A small boy is dead. A mother is crying, a family’s gone mad. Dunes keep taking on new shapes as the wind blows steadily on. How much light, when someone died for whom the sun never shone…

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