handfuls of air

In the dark: a dog barking.

Large black dog with yellow eyes

barking at my bed.

And the bedroom door closing

slowly as the black dog sits

behind it growling at me running

through thick air to catch the knob,

the distant knob slipping.

But it shuts, it locks, I'm stranded

in the dark, feeling my way back

across the carpet, hands and knees,

to safety in cool bedsheets

where from beneath

mischievous giggles emanate,

foreboding chaotic sleep

into which I plunge again.