streetlight, bright- outside your window
blinds with their eyes half closed
a car rolls by in midnight
rumbles
whisks
dissolves…
Inside, your bedroom door is open a crack
lonely toys stack, murmur in a puzzle as
a G.I. Joe reads a book, upside down
behind sliding mirror where you saw yourself
grow from boy to man
a frame on the wall, crooked, like a
frown, since you’ve been gone
the ceiling blinks, looks for movement below
suspended walls painted in suspicion, wondering
will you ever lay here again
the hole in the door knob
has a pupil in its core, feels
might see you around the corner
press me with your palm
clench me, turn me, enter once more
creaking drawers are empty
your bed, made but stiff, confused
a warm body has left
your room, vacant of you
a hearth, that waits for strike of match
whenever you come back home…
skipping stones 