Where Somebody Died

The self refuses to appear
   in this bare place.
It fears that mute chair
   and the still window.
The sunlight scares it.
There might rise up a sound.
The door doesn't like to move,
   and the crow out there
   hesitates; he knows
   a hole flown into by mistake
   would make a bite of him.
What was sits standstill in the chair,
   hangs, stunned, against the dry-eyed light.
Nobody in sight.
Inanimate things, still lifeless.
This room's so empty
   I doubt I'm standing here;
   there can't be room for me
   and total emptiness.
Only some far-off sounds persist.
The brute truck
   over the interstate.
The flames in the incinerator
   chewing his old vests.