Last night too soon
the floor was tinted moon
and cold light wet the walls.
Through empty halls
I heard the snicker
of your voice go quicker
than the snuffing out of lights
on windy nights.
The nights like last night come
as if you’d planned their dumb
precision with a hate.
Each night I tense and wait
to hear your shuffle on the stair.
My call breaks empty air.
With eyes turned inside out
I stare at where my shout
is hanging. Then the dread
creeps up my restless bed.