Bare

Under the stark
lights without shades,
our shadows hiding
in cupboards perhaps
that one dark closet

where nobody missed me.

He sought me out
there under the glare,
exposed in bare windows
looking out, nude
trees in winter.

Nobody walking beside

the thousand insensible
people passing below,
shadows deeper
than souls making cold
Christmas wishes.

Nobody saw

the ashes of your death
scattered in a long forsaken
heart reflecting the view–
A gutter decorated with empty
bottles of the jobless men.

Nobody embraced

them on their porches,
stirring their own ashes
with wine or beer.
They sleep all day
and climb trees at night.