What was it
that could make
me wake
in the middle of the night
when the light
was a long way from coming
and the humming
of the fridge was the single
tingle
of sound
all round?
Why, when I crept downstairs and watched
green numbers sprinting on the kitchen clock,
was I afraid the empty rocking chair
might start to rock?
Why, when I stole back up and heard
the creak of each stair to my own
heart’s quickening beats,
was I afraid that I should find
some other thing from the night outside
between my sheets?