old poem slightly revised for coffin hop

Strange Gods


These Gods pass right through you –
we see only their human shadows.
The stranger of mysterious arrivals,
he may be one.
Each night invisible fingers
open windows within us,
doing their work as we sleep (lightly and not well).
We try to run,
but any star would do to reach this place,
any street corner, any day,
a void can open within any of us.
Their open mouths follow as we pass.