NOBODY HOME

This place with its high ceilings and low ones is so empty

and so crowded.

Someone sits here day by day, although it isn’t clear who,

Coming and going, confused and lonely.

Sometimes–but only sometimes–

There’s nobody home and the loneliness goes away.

(Oh, a few friends, fellow hermits, drop by occasionally. . .)

But mostly, there is only a friendly and remote silence while the music plays this person into unity.

The sunlight pours in,

The dogs snore,

And this aging woman waves to herself

from the other shore of Goodbye. – © Amidha K. Porter