One deep and dark-starred evening 

we – the silly little dog and I – trot 

through the haunted house of night.

And so it happens: eerie claws of trees 

grow from the glow of streetlights 

and tickle us with gnarly fingers. We

escape – but by a hair! – and make our way 

to other corners, where we brave: the ghostly 

weave of twigs like threads of cobwebs, wet and

glistening, heavy-hung with droplets; swollen

eggs of rain, in blackness brooding. Oh, 

what spooky fun we have eloping, and 

how good it is to stroll around – each night

anew such paranormal worlds are found. 

— For A.