In My House

In my house
quiet
I sense the night creeping through windows
slinking along freshly scrubbed floors
to lie in corners, waiting for the dark...

In my house
this strange new entity
I finding myself tilting at noises
that are not yet familiar
the ice machine gushes like a frozen Niagara.

In my house
it is warm
silent
dry
hot
cold
weather permitting
I'll go outside and build a garden
if the snow promises not to stick to the rake
or my new garden shovel.

In my house
I am restless
afraid the stove will blow up
or the neigbors will
steal my laundry from the line
in the summertime.

In my house
when I sit up in bed
listening hard
but hearing only
the hum of my alarm as it slumbers
I see naked shadows pass by in diaphanous form
pacing the hallway between bedroom and bath.

In my house
I look for signs of other life forms
not those little green men that came from afar
mistakenly packed in boxes yet unopened
but the other kind are the kind I seek...
those filmy creatures
that speak to me in my dreamtime
those who dance in my periphery
and tell me in epiphany
that all is well in my house.

.

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