Does anything exist at this hour,when my footsteps crash,and my breathing screams?When every slight movement I make,Feels like a leap?When I’m all alone,my house is quiet.Outside the streetlights blur,and twist themselves into shapes thatspotlight on the patch of gravel,that’s emptyNo one is there,to stand in that spotlight,and listen to the applause,of the grass, blowingin the wind.And I am inside,looking out,at an empty place,that I wish weremine.