Midnight House Upon A Summer's Day Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Insanity is never the horror rooftop hit by lightning,
The Gothic stairway, the shaggy streaming hair.

It is when the day fuses quietly like a light bulb.
It is when looking down, the hands in the sink
Inside the yellow gloves, seem to belong to a stranger.

It is when the midnight house upon a summer's day
Makes time tick like a bomb.

Ah, then the street lamp
Is the Cyclops only eye, staring so intently into the pool
It does not seem to have notice it has drowned.
It does not notice the sky is a white Armada,
Calmly sailing off to sharkless seas