Last night I stubbed my toe.
I cursed the dark hallway,
the window without its moon.
There had been a dream, I know.
The texture still throbbed
like a splinter under the skin.
As a child I thought a creature
lurked beneath my bed.
If I rose, it would grab my ankles
pull me down and under.
My wailing silent as ice.
No one would know until morning
when they found my bed empty
my pillow a soft valley of snow.