It’s too cold for the first night
of a new season. All gone,
the neighbors’ cars. Are you alone?
Where are they? Perhaps the flight,
 
the one carrying your daughter and wife,
is delayed? But didn’t they go by bus?
Is everything portentous?
Is everything your life?
 
You’re waiting, obviously, for
anything to change: maybe a door
will open, a way through the wall;
maybe a folded note, a surprise call
 
will pry your heart’s elastic pocket.
Or not. Quick—try to lock it.