Empty Room

As soon as I leave it, my room

slips behind me, vanished

to another place, another time,

living on in homey peace.

All I own

is there, the coat

tossed on last night’s couch,

the books shouldering each other

off the shelves, loose change

in a drawer, my passport,

the stereo still breathing lyrics

from the last CD.

Sharper than five senses,

everything agrees it’s me.

When I consider going back

the room returns,

its flower-blue curtains pressed to the window,

streetlights guarding the shadows.

Night breeze fills the sails, repeats.

Eyes closed, pores open,

the room respires, wafting cool air,

listening for my footsteps.

The doorknob turned, the light switch thrown

pulls up the primal order—

furniture heaves into view,

each object a challenge

to being, to self,

jabbering doubt.