Untitled poem:

There is only one set of footprints on my bedroom floor,
one set of breakfast, lunch and dinner plates piled in my kitchen sink.
One body floating through the front door
and just one bathtowel hanging next to the shower.
The only voices are those of characters on the tv
or faceless singers on the radio--
strangers that live with me in this empty house.
The vegetables in my garden and the herbs in my flower pot
aren't lonely.
The zuchinni has the squash
and the basil has the cilantro.
I have my shadow to follow me where I go.
Except for on cloudy, rainy, foggy days like today.
Today, I have my typewriter, my guitar, my countless cups of coffee
to keep me company.
The empy space beside me invites my thoughts to fill it.
The air around me beckons me to spin and twirl and dance.
The world outside my covered windows seems caught in a trance--
where no one exists and seconds melt into hours.
Inside, with socks to warm my feet and words to warm my heart,
I am comfortable.
A smile spreads across my face and threatens the darkness outside.
If it knocks on my door, it will find no one home.
And it will leave.