It doesn’t happen often and I actually wrote this one a few weeks back, but I was just reminded of it, because my house is popping and creaking and startling me while I’m trying to work. The other day, from down the hall, I heard the sound of someone walking across my guestroom floor.
No one was there, of course. Of course.
Preview
I glimpsed the ghost in me
The rattle and knock
The cold spot already brewing
The foreknell in the floorboard
that does not yet squeak
Second sight and sixth sense
A pocket full of night
I test the balance of the trinkets
on the shelves
I wick the oil from the hinges
in the doors
I map the playground
of the small, fine hairs
at the back of your neck
Vanguard angry
for the time
When I am nothing but
a will peeled off its way
-Jamie Mason
Because I Love To Hear Myself Type 
So vivid and realistic, I am still holding my breath until I read the next post.
You did a lovely job with this poem, Jamie. Great capture.