Temporarily Empty

I check e-mail like an animal licks an open wound, 

waiting to be sent something, 
from God, a realtor in Maine, 
headhunter in Paris, someone
who understands the point of
a meaningful escape.

I have tidied up rooms until there is no sign of life.

I am having trouble connecting
with anything that breathes, 
small kindnesses are painful, 
even this gentle blowing, 
unintentional breeze. 

My dogs stay close, the un-watered flowers do not die.