Pitch dark, as I poke around at an address
I had scribbled earlier at a party
Using a girl's bare back
To write the street and the number
While she kept tittering to herself.
In any case, here I am worrying about
How many matches I dare waste
Reading the names over the mailboxes.
I thought of ringing a random bell,
Saw them all already gathered upstairs,
Standing close and listening.
The bells made no sound. No door opened.
No hostess came down in a party dress
carrying a glass of wine for me.
I had let the taxi go and had no idea where I was.
I had a choice of hurrying off
Or staying where I was a little longer
In the quiet moments before dawn,
With not a single lit window anywhere.
The graying sky barely visible.
One solitary birdcall, and then another,
Softer one, in response, here where
There were no trees or bushes in sight.