No one in sight from the sunny windows, no
Children, no bears, no friends wanting to talk
About children or bears, no one to hand
A volume of poems. At the moment—as if
We could ever have arrived at the moment, as if
A moment were a street address with a door
Awaiting a knock—not even a pedestrian, not
Even a passing vehicle, not even a bike, not
So much as a dog was wagging by. Village life,
Sometimes. What happened to everyone?
Give them time. There was a sign, a new sign
Posted just a block away, warning of a bear
In the area. Several newly printed books of poems
Waited on the cabinet under the best, museum window.
Friends and family were out there, somewhere, moving,
Even if they didn’t know it yet, didn’t know yet
Who they were, themselves, changed as we were.
And then there was a banging on the door. People.
As usual. We never saw them coming.
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