Curtain Gap

The envelope slipped,

a clumsy catch.

My head bent low, a swift

moment, then a twitch

across the way.

A pale sheer, cream

of a curtain, barely

a breath, but I saw it gleam.

A thin slit, staring, squarely

at my display.

It was nothing, probably,

a draft, a settling of the house.

But the spine tingled, subtly,

a small, quick mouse

inside my own head, it stayed.

Collecting the mail, a simple act,

now layered with eyes.

My movements, suddenly exact,

as if under careful skies.

And the world felt made.