I looked to the city.
The lights were on, but nobody was home.
I was alone.
I expected dust devils to whirl
as I walked through my world.
Behind every door a Marie Celeste,
of empty chairs and still full plates.
Wherever I looked reigned emptiness,
yesterday’s news and mild distress.
The dust and dirt of memories
clung to my walls like tragedy.
And then the lights went out.
That was when I knew, without a doubt:
I would always be alone.
But what was always there,
that I just couldn’t see,
were all the souls