Mice at Night
by Ralph Tejeda Wilson

Rooms grow strange in their corners

as faintly a ticking, a ticking
has begun in the walls.
_______________________Now small hands
are changing the face of the clock, the hour
upon it, almost touching.
_______________________Crouched close
to the floorboards creaking, I can feel
the joints tremble with a crawling weight

where I scarcely breathe to hear
them better, thin-scritching
like time along stone, water trickles
of feet down the pipes.
and inside, there are places
one forgets or never knew, so slant
and hidden from light, even the meek
may enter.
_________All over the dreaming house, still
they are unstitching. Pins drop. A shadow
crosses a page. And through a doorway
comes a child’s toy
chittering with jeweler’s teeth,
wrinkles its nose,
turns & is gone.

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