Windows
The asphalt street glimmers orange
from the dew left
The parallel houses
of muted-colour clapboards and red brick walls
hatted by black shingle
Through one square paned window
I see graduation pictures
of a person who no longer lives there
Turn to the right, another window
A fireplace,
Cards flocked across its mantle
like birds on a wire
Another window, just up ahead
A couch, sunken and grooved
Years worth of history
within its cushions
Once more, a window there
The curtains are drawn
The lights are dark
The family has gone to sleep
Good night