Now I search the night
for glowworms or gleams of snow.
Asleep open-eyed,
I turn my wax world slowly
Around a lifetime
of continents and oceans
Till the last star shrinks,
then shudders, and then goes out.
I saw it emptied
room by room and piece by piece
Until the house stood vacant
of all but its bones.
No paintings, no books,
no flowers, fruits or music.
A silence anonymous
as space void of time.
"Wait," my body cried,
"do not board up the windows!
"The owner left a message:
she's coming home soon."