The Ghost
At two o`clock in the morning,
I am not sure if the biggest scare
is that of the little spider,
just a teenager,
that flattens on the ground and runs away
at sudden lighting up.
Three o`clock and it is all right!
It was neither a bird nor an airplane
and much less the superman:
it was only the wind
and the implacable time passing by
in the glass window reflex.
Four o`clock in the morning.
Insomniac specter
going on his distressing round
among the micro, the tv, and the icebox,
keeping vigil for dreams, snores and purrs,
in my utterly modest Canterville.
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