more than twelve years

                          every evening he was home  and looked south out his kitchen window  two houses down  four panes  illuminated by the yellow room beyond

    not a shadow cast

fixed

electric

constant

before he went to bed hed look to satisfy his curiosity

                                                          panes lighted

he had no idea who lived there

he had no curiosity to learn

    twelve years and

he believed

              twelve years into the future

the panes would be lit

evenings he burned candles in rooms he inhabited

                                                      was tantalised by their febrilenervous motions  expressions

windows closed

drafts existed

                holes

in the souls

of three who died in the house long before he moved in

                                                           who occasionally visited

who he welcomed

understood two had built the house with their own hands

                                                              the third

their young daughter who preceded them

overdosed

in the room that he used as a studio

    she came more than they

                               she

knew his name

had spoken it on many occasions

                                    he asked hers

she didnt say

often at night she was over his shoulder as he wrote

    she withheld sweet nothings

Whas your name

You know mine

    silence

2339,  Sunday,  27  4. 25