A muse in the night, see'em?

From high atop the rickety chairs
the delicate shadows of a broom
and of Barbara
chasing a mouse around the table.

The sound of almost breaking and
a blur of eyes whirring around
the exits. Displays, signs pointing,
crazed light, and a scream.

The hard hopeless dash of sin
and skin across hardwood
fur, tail, get out get out
and then the hole

truth of it all, in the moiling
black around the moon. 

She shatters a fragile sigh
like lightbulb pop
a spectacle
a shimmer
a seething flying hope for the stars
and the discounted admission
to certain knowledge

Barbara, Barbara, breathe
your soul is saved 
your heart beats
the mouse in the house
is gone.

Free at last
Free at last
Free at alst.