There were bedroom lamps
During sunset
With bulbs switched off
Though they shimmered
Like the weekend’s gasp
Trading headlights
From reflected streets
For day’s breath,

Seeing streams of dust
Fleeing curtains
As wood’s orange dimmed
Through white windows
Where purples and reds
Painted nighttime
Across carpets stained
Between coughs,

When tomorrow’s clock
Nearly exhaled
By its chiming lungs
Grown congested
After waiting so long
Seeking exits
Only evening walls
Never showed

But shadows had hoped
Remained pale
Over fading dusks
Piercing doorways
Along furnished halls
Seeming longer
Knowing tables alone
Appear sad –

In my empty chair
Always squirming
Since that Sunday wish
Wouldn’t comfort
What future stare
Down each corridor
Traced an innocent ghost
Still unfair,

Leaving notes on shelves
Learning hindsight
Held our God at risk
Being vacant
If such transience nears
Suffocation
Letting space at home
Lock us up.

• J. Pigno