Traveling through the dark I found a diary
stuck, in the back shelf of an attic.
where I blew large breaths over dust
thick as fur,
it was colored and
one embroidered with a name, Jane.
a bronze lock and key unattached
it had a weakened latch.
Rust covered it and it broke,
a first page crisp as if just written,
I began a chapter and step into a bedroom
dead locked, and she begin
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