When the golden sun
sinks low in the sky
I silently begin to shiver.
Alone in my small bedroom
I close my eyes in fear.
Breathing
breathing sharply
I twist and turn:
the dark shadows
of unknown objects
dance across walls
of memories.
Hiding beneath the blankets,
my barrier
a stuffed animal,
my only companion
when the night took over the daylight,
the luminous moon
from somewhere hangs,
becomes a beacon.
Darkness is enclosing
enclosing
and I am afraid
of ghosts seen only by children’s
eyes
shining, bright
eyes—wide
unblinking
frightened
gloom
but I cannot count sheep
because I cry
because of what lurks
because of what intimidates
because every nightfall,
because eventually, I emit a yawn
and drift off to sleep.