Witness

Minute left, seconds by the door,
window shut, crawling on the floor, broken glass,
count the stairs, second ran, first shed tears,
through the garden, near the pines,
the mist is rising, third declines;
sitting in the corner, living room, in the armchair,
nom de plume, legs crossed, hair slicked back,
lights dim, pitch black, carved staff,
sweet perfume, sharp nails,
eyes of doom.