Dread

Dread Did I leave that window open?

I do not remember the breeze Moving through the curtains so; Blowing cold with wind fingers Down to the floor below.

What is that threshing sound Coming from my daughter's room?

Why do the shadows move, As if disturbed from quiet talk?

Why do they walk, elongate, In this hallowed place of evening ­ Inviting an investigation?

Why their sharp delineation When there is no moon.

I have woken from my drowsy sleep Too soon. I must compose my mind.

I shall arise to see what I shall find.

Carl Estrin