Mass

© 1998 Scott C. Holstad
All rights reserved.

Buried down in the cool depths
of deeply antiquated vaults
you lie,
aloof, biding your time,
conserving precious energy.
By night, they come out,
hoping to tear you from
your rest; chanting ancient
incantations, furiously dancing
rhythmic movements, sensuously
swaying - now motionless,
anticipating, now suddenly
silent, straining, yearning;
the chambers' occupants are
disturbed, the clatter of
tiny claws can be heard
scattered on hardened earth
on nights like this and,
uneasy, you wait, knowing
it will be soon.

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