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  • Writer's pictureHil Hoover

we are the army of the twilight hour

those of us who have gone and come again

into this world

what clings to us as we return

desperate to enter

the physical realm

from the other side

what rides us

when our near-death

becomes another chance

at life

what hides inside

or just alongside

when our breath stutters

into existence one more time

did we come back the same,


because on nights like this

(at twilight, when the shadows

are not quite right anymore)

I wonder whether my shadow

has always done these strange things

and whether you, this voice

that is not quite my voice

and not quite the voice of the boy

I followed into the realm of the dead

(couldn't bring back, we all know

how those stories go)

but not quite NOT either of those


are really whispering in my ear

go out for a walk in the twilight

just a short walk at twilight

you're still alive,

alive again, aren't you

it's just a little farther

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