It flew through
the window this morning
in a cold little eddy of air-
Dressed in yesterday's rags and tomorrows paper,
it asked for a lock of my hair.
It held up a sign and offered a cup,
crying Cassandra's tears-
whispered tomorrow's disaster and yesterday's news
with a croaking voice in my ears.
It flew through the window this morning,
and I ushered it out the door-
I couldn't shake this feeling I had-
I'd somehow seen it before.
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