The grey cat thinks of
God, but its shadow
Calls to you in a hoarse
whisper
"Go home and pack; be
prepared to leave
At a moment's
notice." The old tree
Your grandfather planted
interrupts its dying
To mutter that a committee
of low gods
Has assembled to argue
over your fate.
Aunt Edith, who died
before you were born,
Sends you a dream in which
the two of you
Find an echo of the lost
chord. Later,
She gives a small silver
coin to an angel
With blank, unseeing eyes.
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