that strange thing

Night falls.

Side lamp extinguishes.

Centered in my bed.

Silence

Quiet

Still

Then there’s that strange thing

The forever unknown noise

That unfamiliar crack

That bizarre scratch

That weird screech

A movement outside the glass

A sound not heard in daylight

An unfitting bump, haunting my blinds

step – crack – step

It scratches at the plaster

Thinning from the inside

Too BIG for a mouse, too small for a rat

rub – scratch – rub

That external noise

Like a mixture of a birds cry,

and a lonely pig squeak ( ! )

silent – screech – silent

then it goes

away …

and again I am left in the dark

waiting while drifting

thinking while sleeping

dreaming while waiting

So, what is that strange thing?

That only visits when I am alone,

and when my light has dissolved.

that strange thing

where do you go?