The Night Guest

Hear it, through the walls
how it crinkles
like overworked skin.
Unused to movement
its limbs grind
bone to socket.
It learns soon enough
how it is excused
from laws of earthly motion.
A cracked doorway,
slats of the vent
it exhausts all
avenues for entrance.
The signs are simple
made for children
so you’ve no excuse:
a far-off bell,
heavier nights.
Its birth comes
at your first unraveling.
Even when you think
you’ve banished it
to dust and void,
look outside your window
at the flickering lamp;
it isn’t there, it’s never there.
How you wish, but it’s never
that far away.
Before sleep, you feel
its hands sliding
through bedspread
until it wraps itself
around you, hard and whole.
If you close your eyes
long enough
it will return some other day.