Written by Jayne Marek

The house of the lonely man
at night shows lights on
in two rooms, so he can sit in
the living room and stare through
the door to the next where the lamp
shines against a small uncurtained
window, reflecting, as if that single
glow were twice its size.  He could
stand up slowly from the flattened sofa
and walk carefully into that other room,
as if about to speak to someone who
won’t care if the man pauses to put down
a bottle, and if he stops, perplexed, once past
the doorframe, he could turn around
and perceive, over his shoulder, the room
he just left, soft with luminance that needs no words
and seems never to have had them.

This work was featured in issue #4