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In the Carribeanat the end of daysun drops suddenlylike a fire ballbehind forested hills
I feel it, first as a stir,turning deep in the murky water.Surfaces up for air, a twitchon the lake in my head.A flip, and it disappears.
The night was as dark as an ink well,For the moon had gone visiting elsewhere,But by the scuffling sounds around me,I knew there was someone there.
It is midnight in the ice rinkAnd all is cool and still.Darkness seems to hold its breathNothing moves, until