You must think that I
Am in jail, ‘cause you never
Get a letter from me.
Here I am
Talking to you, and you
Will never know it. You
Listen to the siren
Of a hook and ladder as
It passes through
The business district, the whine
Of a dog on a run
Watching the squirrel
Taunting him on the deck
Railing, the vibration of pipes
As water running through
Fills a school teacher’s
Bathtub, the commotion
Of glasses
In a rubber basin, carried
Into the kitchen
By a bus boy on
His first day at work.
I would light
A candle if I believed
The smoke would bring
A comforting word
To your window seat.