is just shadows from the fan blades
or the spirits that have attached to me, 
my grandfather and college friends 
who passed far too early and now linger,
brushing my skin with dead fingers,
leaving behind only goosebumps,
or maybe there is something written in the paint,
a secret to the end of the universe,
a tale of its beginning,
words only he can comprehend
or does he see the mosquito hawk with dented wings
he tried to hunt earlier
with his clumsy indoor cat paws
but accidentally let free
or perhaps just the swaying of the chain
i pulled to turn the light on
so i could write this poem?

NaPoWriMo Day 10: The prompt was to play with weather, but instead I wrote about my cat Neville!

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