Inside My Home at Night

At two-o-clock in the morning, my light
is the only one on. There's nothing
for the windows to let in so they've turned
on me. They reflect my image as a gray
ghost sitting in a chair so black, it punches
a hole in the window and lets in just a few
dirty gray stars. When I look at the window,
I can feel them at my back, holding me up
with the dim fact of their existence.