I know I have to stop looking up
at the two rectangular windows
sitting above the tree
peering over the white worn wood
of the gazebo.
Two eyes taunting me as I scurry like an ant from one hill to the next.
I keep looking,
searching for glimpses of a life
I am no longer allowed to inhabit.
In a blurry outline, a dark head of hair,
a single light left on late.