I am alone. I am. The sounds are not naked Scratchings from outside; No soft paws scurry in the attic; The floors beyond are tiled; The stairs carpeted; The hinges like cloth; The curtains drawn against shade; The phone doesn't ring to vacant voices; Half-burnt candles would burn In the whosh of a hallway. And yet, I hear you breathe, Hear the rustle of sleeves; A light slivering beneath the door. And I am Alone.