Jake's Flea Market

baby mews   kitten cries

scrapes   scrapes 
scrapes of little paws at the tin wrapped
out door in the in door 

screeches   screeches 
screeches of tiny claws at the white
blackboard door

noises are the sift of ghost
in through the wall of door

down the stairs into the day
light poured
into the bedroom through the window

it penetrates the walls and enters
the silent dark chamber of sleep 
never overcome before seven a m by any
thing that isn’t dream

the ghost spooks
me awake   aware something scrapes
screeches   cries   mews   calls me to itself

it’s six forty five