While you were sleeping
the house was breathing
Stretching it’s bones
Exhaling in moans.
The floorboard creaks
as the doorframe speaks
the tree rustles in the dark
witching hour left its mark.
The walls are painted in whispers
as the darkness, omits her
she’s missing from the shadows
and only the house knows.
Holding its breath
behind the ageing frames
until morning yawns
and starts a new game.
Charlie Ann Alford 