You were not at all startled to see me
when I snapped on a light in the barn
and caught you with your curled tail
clutching a bundle of pin oak leaves
you’d been out collecting for your nest
under the floor. In a brain no bigger
than a pumpkin seed, there’s not much room
for fear, and none for self-admiration,
so I have pushed aside some of my own fear
to admire you. You have soft fur
like milkweed down, and bright black eyes
alive with all of the big and little things
you’ve learned from midnight, using
your soft pink nose and your restless
pink fingers. It is those fingers that might
make a person fear you, for they seem
almost human, greedy and dangerous.
I think you may know this, because you
slowly turned toward me and lifted
one of your hands to show me how it could
grasp and squeeze a tiny piece of the light
that fell between us, and even a piece 
of my breath.