I am an event in my sudden willed loner’s mute drama

unaudienced with a childishness that would light the town

with the last of my money I acquire a percolator

that drives a private silence through my sleep

which is a tunnel the moon trundles through

my apartment hallway carpet makes shadows like letters

have fallen among florets

people alone in their apartments sit up in bed

a child plays soldiers on the elevator

out my window I see where the houses drip into wheat

orange glow of the presidential library

I elevator to lobby its light in evening reduction

plaque that demands we remember the president stayed here

when he was no longer president

many absented spaces

I thought there was something of myself there

cement still warm from the afternoon