What is that little sound I hear?
A rustle, a faint stirring,
A slight brushing, a scratch.
I slowly turn and hold myself still and silent,
Looking toward the corner of my study,
Suspecting an uninvited guest.
I have seen signs
Of a miniature invasion-
Some shredded paper,
The nibbled corners of a treasured volume-
(Is someone trying to talk to me?)
The corner of my eye catches a slight blur.
A tiny gray face peeks at me
From behind my jewelry box.
He dashes off,
Seeking a safe corner
In which to disappear once more.