The mother spoke your name Across her lips, And kissed the children on the forehead. She turned down the lamps and closed the door, And you came out then from the closet. We had seen you once before, Projected monstrous onto movie screens, Stalking outside under window panes. We understood you made your living. Oh, where you do you come from? Oh, where do you go? And at the bottom of the staircase, Hiding quiet under basement noise, You kept ready all your ropes and twine, Tasting for my ankles. Oh, where do you come from? Oh, where do you go? Dawn came slow, and We awoke With your fingertips On our eyelids. I am older and awake again In the hours before morning, And I have learned you are a formless thing Undeserving of my fearing. Still my skin Speaks your name It's hard to take Away the first taste. Oh, where do you come from? Oh, where do you go?