The doors are locked,
shades drawn.
No signs of life
stirring inside.

Out on the porch,
strike the knocker—
no one answers,
as if someone’s died.

I recall the hinges
swung wide open,
the hostess there waiting,
each room lit and alive.

She must’ve moved on,
neglecting to tell me— 
or, perhaps, couldn’t 
manage a goodbye

Now I must find
myself elsewhere;
the proprietress
left me an empty sky.

In the end, I wasn’t kin,
just a boarder—
privileges suspended,
a house closed tight.

         —•0•—