I sit on walls and ceilings, or stand on the floor. I can be on a table, or hang by the door. I come in many shapes and sizes, Tiffany is one. I scare away the dark for your little son.

An old Japanese art does using gold In new times it's hardly done at all You can do it to young or old You most likely need it after a brawl

I am a ghost of motion, a curve in the air, A sound made of speed, though I'm never quite there. I'm the kiss of the net when the ball passes through, The breath of the blade as it's swung towardyou. I'm the mark on a shoe that is destined to run, The sigh of the wind when the race is begun.

I swallow the rain and the soap from your skin, A dark, hollow throat where the cycles begin. I take what is finished, the used and the old, But clog me with secrets, and watch me unfold. I pull from your energy, leaving you dry, A slow, steady leak as the hours go by.

Along the stairs I creep, a secret path I keep. You grip me tight at night, I while I guide you on your way, up and down everyday and night.