All is well when the lights are on.
I know someone is in.
The office is not empty.
I know something, anything is happening.
The outside world glows a peach aura.
A warm mason jar of coffee is held in my hand.
I note the orange chasing
up over a distant horizon.
We drive in listening to MPR news.
Cold is below trees in crossed arms
and a longing for warmth.
Shaking as it settles to the bone.
The fields are not frosted crystals yet.
How morning is manipulated from lush summer
to autumn colors to bleak black in white.
In months this will seem a dream.
The end is near and those involved understand.
Nuclear power chimneys back the brick façade.
This entire campus is a tragic set.
With impromptu scenes between.
Maples come nude welcoming along the walk.
I step through a waiting room maze.
My key goes in at the elevator’s threshold,
head bumps to the door.
Inside rows of lights cast down
to shine a mute tile floor;
Here was wood and leather,
keyboards and desktop screens.
And then I heard what was for me.
Comfort in words: it will come…
Just give it time.
As everything else, patience and fate.
Ah, the answer is there, as usual.
It’s right in front of me.
And the lights were on.
They were waiting inside the same.