Scratching of dry leaves
swirling on the parlor floor –
door swinging open.

Giggles have echoes
while mice scurry in frenzy –
whisperers unseen.

Cracked portraits of men
and women in fine attire –
a sense of watching

Creaks on the staircase
moaning from chilly hallways
high shutters banging.

Girl’s dresses rotting
moth holes changing their flowers
into peppered cloth.

A crib swings squeaking
as a mobile spins above
in the room’s still air

Bats in the attic
a little boy’s hobby horse
unseen hand rocking

Where the fire starts
no one will ever be sure
now the house is gone.