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
