Long black hair
hair so dark
it swallowed the moonlight
framed a face so white it glowed
beneath the light
that had not been consumed
A single white lily
pressed between
her palms
and held against her breast
as if
it had grown from her heart.
From the window
he watched
as she stepped
from the treeline
and began to walk across
the open field
The wind moaned
in the eaves above,
a mournful sound.
He wondered
was it the wind or
the young woman.
He glanced back
at the clock
then
again out the window
she had now
entered the dooryard
The hand of death
ran up his spine
till it reached
the nape of his neck
the hairs there
stood on end under its carress.
His breathing increased
as she stepped onto
the porch
only to cease completely
at the creaking
of the hinges
as the front door opened
and his heartbeat
stopped with an
audible jolt
as the door slamed shut.
After what seemed
an impossible time
without air
he began to breathe.
He walked down the hall
to the front door
and reached for the knob
with trembeling hand.
It was locked
just as he had left it
before retireing for bed
earlier that night.