Company in an hour I sprayed

Company in an hour. I sprayed

the sliding door and the sun

threw every smudge into court—

full palm, four fingers, a thumb

at chest height.

All mine.

No child's hand low on the glass.

No forehead from someone

leaning in to check the rain.

I wiped in circles till the glass

went invisible and the yard

came through—still, clipped, quiet.

The rag was filthy with just me.

I wrung it out

and the door held nothing.

Clean pane. Perfect.

Like nobody lives here at all.