Night Fears

Small-hours creak of wooden floors. Dead hearts.

Sounds suddenly come.

Are they leaves on the window or fingers tapping? Shatter of glass, paralysed fingers.

Overhead, something moves,

Listlessly rasping its feet.

Birds' feet have claws. They sound like claws.

If they were lighter, it might be a bird.

Lips dusted with fever hiss at the keyhole. Drifts of starlight cross the floor, Bending and supplicating.

The shadows gather - don't look at their eyes.

The curtains are pulled aside.

The moon vanishes.

The shadows soak over the room.

Their faces squint from the wallpaper.

Tap-tap-tap.

Ah!

Shooting my feet to the end of the bed They meet a toad, clammy with poison.

No. It is only a cold hot-water bottle.