Quarrel's Echo

The front steps seemed not

to remember my tread as if 

she had told them to treat

me like a stranger. I pushed 

the bell and felt the echo

of an empty house. I ran the 

the bell again but the locks obeyed

their orders and silence spoke

for the closed door. I turned

my back on the blank features

and told the steps good day, 

and my wish not to be salt

kept me from the sight of her

pale face hiding in a window

while two sparrows bickered in

the eaves over a half-built

nest.