Sometimes at night
the world gets in.
Moonlight floods the yard,
the shadow opens a window
where the light from the house falls.
Something in the tree line.
Fear jarring my clay heart,
cast like a bell, sounding
distance. I could run
but where to, I am now
an island, portless. The dark sprawls
and yawns; I think:
If I am parallax between this door
and that window, it will think me
an army. Now. Calmly
I should destroy the stairs.
Please let my finite light prevail.
If not, then
I hope the jaws close like doors.
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