Dead Code

The hallway is different, the ceiling is low,

and I’m still learning which way I should go.

Three weeks at the desk and my back is a knot,

trying to fit in this brand-new, lonely plot.

I walked in the kitchen and reached for the wall,

waiting for light to come answer my call.

But my hand found the plaster, a desert of white,

where the switch used to be in the middle of night.

My fingers are drumming a code on the wall,

trying to act like they still understood.

But the wires are moved and the circuits are new,

leaving me reaching for nothing, and you.