I woke up in an empty house
where the morning light was holding dust in the air
and whispering to me
In its warmth, I stole a glance
at the ever-changing path it cut across the floor
from one side to my own
A bird, a wasp, an empty nest
the hummingbird nectar in the canopy
will last all through the month
This shallow cove, where monsters sleep
is full of life in summertime, days and nights,
and dead when trees shed leaves
But I still think I like it more
when it's only me and the wolves at the door
Sometimes I hear an echo of the ones who came before
but it's almost silent, like a creak in the floor
Brindle fur against the pine
don't ever tell a man who his best friend is
but this dog here is mine
Cold enough in the restless night
but crickets and cicadas still hum their songs
and wait for love to arrive
And I still think I like it more
when it's only me and the wolves at the door
Sometimes I hear an echo of the ones who came before
but it's almost silent, like a creak in the floor