On a calm, clear night, I see his ghost out on the bay.
On a calm, clear night, I look out and wonder if he seems closer now than he did the night before.
On a calm, clear night, he reaches the shore below my cottage and his face is close enough for me to look into eyes that swallow moonlight.
On a calm, clear night, I sit in the chair by the door waiting for his knock, knowing I will have no choice but to rise and let him in.
And it is the calmest, clearest thought I have ever known.
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