Not all are missed when
they disappear.  Like bodiless
shadows, dusty windows or
small, dead birds.  

Why do you think they
make us uncomfortable;
why do they haunt us?

I think it's because they
belong to us and somehow
we left them on a dark hill
or in a locked closet,

covered their faces
before they grew faces,
their skin like rubber
faintly emitting light. 

Once in awhile we open
their doors to look inside,
to remember what we were
before we gave them

a hiding place. 

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