mostly, I hear a phone ringing. Not much else.

Maybe I’d stand at the window more often

if the view were nicer—a lush forest

and a little doe eating red berries from a bush.

Even if she were only there briefly, even if

she never looked at me before leaping off,

it’d be better than this. What brings me here,

usually, is some dish I left out overnight.

(This time it’s a brown and withering

green salad.) But I want to be able to say

that it’s hope that brings me to the window,

that I made too much salad hoping for company.