In the cobble stone lane

a young woman in dark shawl was

pushing a large blue baby buggy.

She stood there

in the middle of the path

not moving one way or the other,

the buggy mostly sideways

when they strolled by.

Looking down, they saw

the plaster cast baby doll

wrapped in a blanket.


“It was her eyes, those shining eyes,”

he said later.  “Something about

not being present.”



The sky was misting and

they couldn’t get warm in their room

at the Shakespeare Hotel.



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