I was scared to death by a snap in the night,
so I laughed like a madman,
whistled like a train
and stopped at the trestle.
And like the night and everything in it,
I listened for the unfamiliar sound,
to sound again,
and there was nothing there.
Nothing to be afraid of,
just a sound out of harmony with other sounds,
that reverberate, contributing to
the white noise of crickets and katydids.
How many times do I jump at things
that aren’t there, that don’t fit,
that peek from behind doors
and leave their shadows on the wall,
and I blame the good earth for its living?
For filling dead space with something
to be afraid of, to laugh at,
and whistle,
lest I drop dead from fear
at the sound of a flower opening.