Wiley, slyly, creeping stilly
Past the twilight, past the dawn,
Creature nightmare, fangs a-glowing
In sun rising it comes near.
Flowing, moving mist-hued being,
Hair as soft as spider’s silk,
Multi-eyed and many legged
It comes creeping
In his dreams?
Silly, thinks he, still in sleep,
That this dreamscape should be
Threatening, if at all.
Yet his breath catches in
Pale morning; swiftly, stilly
Creature stalking, comes
Through the misty, wispy yard
Out there with moon
Newly silver, whitely shining,
Now pewter dullness in the day,
He stirs beside the open
Window; shhh—he hears a brush of
Something—something now
So near his bed—
Something, something
Multi-eyed with eyes
A-shining in morning light—
Something bulbous, bloated,
And hissing—in insectial delight.