My strident  footsteps echo  on,
foot of after hour uncanny stroll,
moonlight stirs the heart with,
gladness nonetheless in phase,
are there ghosts in my ear?
am I hearing things?
I’m not the only night owl,
as some floating figures drift,
under pale amber street lights,
the charm of worlds invisible,
does the strangest of things,
to a mind under quaint  spell,
the notion, the inkling, the sense,
of being watched by unseen sprites,
surreptitious madrigal of fantasy,
a snoop, pry, eavesdrop pending,
I breathe whimsy icicles audible,
A solemn clock strikes as I peek,
into thoughts as they rebound,
yet the universe is somehow privy,
to a muffled fief my scanty whisper