Footsteps underneath my bed I hold my breath I check the driveway for a sign I count the layers that I orbit being sure not to touch your shoes on the ground or your letters from your church Sorry and thank you well rehearsed well before in case I may collide like a country mouse on the subway Whispered phone calls while you laugh you're always laughing and always stern and unhappy I heard you leave out the door I bring my paper and my pens I pour myself a glass now I am home I play my music phone at my side dance in the kitchen sing to myself I hear the rustling of keys I inhale deeply as my feet stick to the floor you are back and I retreat back under my blankets we are not at war