lights are on, but
the home is full of shadow anyway,
mirrors reflecting blackness,
reflecting
my face,
an amalgam with nothing.
lights are on, but
the reflection in the window makes the garden
burn,
the reflection in the window is of a face,
one so similar to yours,
my heartbeat quickens and dies.
lights are on, and
i did so on purpose,
tried to chase photographs,
so clearly remembered,
out of the gaps in the walls.
lights are on, but
is anyone
at home.