or if the room is empty, or if it
holds the breath of uneasy ghosts

if the walls are deep blue and sunlit

we will exist here
in hopper’s silence

we will sit next to dusty windows
from some other century

a view of what, though?

not cities and not water

an expanse of manicured lawn?

yes, and then the interstate
beyond it, but empty

there’s been a tragedy

it’s the end of an age or
not quite the
beginning of the next

we are witnesses

we are in love

this, at least,
is a comfort

– John Sweet