The Squatters

They come in darkness,

Under cover of night they drift

In lumbering slobbering mass,

To settle and gnaw upon time.

Once it took Jesus to fight them,

A son killed by the Father

To beat back the evil things,

Eve had seen in man. 

I watch them with my heart,

Feel them emerge with my eyes;

Nothingness is the cover from which they crawl

To squat and scratch at the sparking  dark.

Speaking in tongues with language dead,

Sometimes Father Patrick, but mainly it’s my fathers voice.

Through spit and broken teeth they whisper,

“No” always and forever, “no.”

DM

For her as always.