The Echoes

The black echo
of your being
opened and closed the door
flitted past the corner
of my eye
and up the stair
It was real. 
I saw it.
And years later 
the cat
dead but back 
ran her black 
echo along the 
length of the 
kitchen cabinets
in her hurry 
fussy style 
and I never 
saw her again.
Maybe the echo 
only sounds once 
like a soft bell 
struck softly 
the smoke-black
there for a fleeting
then gone
after its owner
into the ether of
another world.
Demeter's Fields
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