Going for a run

I jump off the side of the road when the cars come;

I am alone with this building now,

like I wanted.

The blur of speed stirs a loose shingle

and the ghost churns the leaves in a circle.

From the corner of my eye

there is a body darting from the slump of window.

I am certain of five fingers,

alabaster clinging loosely to the toothy edge

and then the creak of floorboards

where presently there are none.

Another car and whirl of wind;

field mice stir from oxidized walls

squeaking and flitting at my ankles—

from inside

someone, something

sighs and shifts its weight.

I am close enough to hold that ashen hand in mine,

familiar enough to ask

which one are you

save the impenetrable boundary between us.