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.
_______________________Underneath
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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