Sometimes, 

i imagine i hear 

you

tip-tapping around 

on my roof

like a  blind man’s cane

looking  

for something

you 

can not 

find,

prattling 

about how you want

uncooked beans

and other things your hollow legs are 

unable 

to afford while 

you-an out of season skeeter

flit 

about ice ponds

looking 

for drowning folks to pull out

 and roast 

like fish over a spit

sometimes,

i hear their moans 

drip

onto my roof 

 as you 

tip tap about

poking around  rain gutters 

looking for garlic

sometimes ,

i get up

and lock all my doors…

sometimes 

i crouch in bed 

and pray 

for the winds

to stop