Night Things

Of fragile things that live in back alleys,

That wrap themselves in shadows and

Make their eyes glow

To frighten away the night prowlers.

Underneath, they are nothing but

Gossamer and spindle;

Spider-thin legs that quiver

When they try to stand.

And they mutter and croon,

and shy from the moon

And spin themselves scarves on night’s laughing loom.

-

Of quiet things that watch from above;

You hear their wings sometimes

And look up

And see nothing but the dark where the stars should be.

Where all deities have averted their eyes,

Because they cannot bear to look,

The quiet things still see

But they will never come to your aid.

From above they watch hats,

And they hunt in packs,

They eat whispers and shadows and black city cats.

-

Of haunted things; of sleepless things;

Leaving sand in their footprints as they walk

And breathing out little puffs

Of grey dust

Into the night air.

Hold your breath as they pass.

They crumble back to yellow curb grit

At dawn.

And emerge, dreamless husks,

From the greying dusk;

Walk in square-shaped circles ‘till they scent the sun’s musk.