September 3rd, 2002

caillebotte_man at his window

Something I just remembered.

The door that opened and clicked shut. Indistinct voices press the wall. The sleep heavy room and outside the window crickets and night. Spilled light sprays leaves. I walk knowing where each piece of furniture sits. Push the door into loudness and light and the smell of coffee. He is strange now and I feel myself change. The buzz of the florescent lamp and someone laughs. A song turns old as the radio plays it. The air of the room condenses on the windows where reflections have replaced the city. Maybe I still dream. I forget a question and answer without knowing what I say. I watch the second hand of the electric clock. The room tilts with it. The face in the window has vanished. Nobody inhabits that room. The house was demolished long ago.