living alone

it is the little things,

the light on too long as we

ready for bed,

the flushing

of toilets,

the brushing of teeth,

the thump of bare feet

across the floor

as one goes down again

to check the latch on

each window, each door.

the snoring,

the pulling of sheets

and blankets,

that small night long

war.

it is the little things

that make us believe, not

so much in love,

but in living alone.