Above the Stair

All he can hear is the click-click of boots
tapping-tapping on his mind in the midnight sun
The unwavering rhythm instigating to mute
The man amoungst the bedsheets, coming undone.

Twisting, turning, quivering in the snare
of the tune in the attic sailing over air.
Silencing his thoughts in one swift note
Upon the waking ship precariously afloat.

He touched the floor; Toes curled cold
and climbed the stair with clever mind
avoiding the squeak and creak in kind
as not to startle the intruder inside

Approached the attic, ever clear, bathed in midnight sun,
To find the tap to be a trapped thought being turned
round and round pounding the sound into warring ears.
The man sat and stared, pondering still, the sound above the stairs.