Nightlight

A noise I may have heard but am not sure
I’ve heard pries me from the bottom of sleep.
I rise against my will, a dark body
levitating and used to night – climbing –
and my eyes, not wishing to, open wide.
They hear the god breathing outside the door,
focus the way my head lies, on details
in the wallpaper and a round molding.
By the mopboard the nightlight congeals weight
and casts shadows that make me upside down.

That noise – if there was one – does not repeat
but I’m warned now anyhow and need to stalk
and do, and what I feel is nude and brave
to be a hero inventing a house,
a champion prowling down phantom stairs
...