The path
leads nowhere my front door
stretches for miles.
It is cold or I
would sit on the porch breath
in the air freshly
formed of cedars and green chard

A drizzle has taken
over the silent stony
path to the street,
the swings are still
in the yard. I've lived here
for two weeks no end
to the road at hand
no teleporter
to the captains lounge.
The screen
is blank no work
is calling I say
yet again I am
still and uninformed
as to where the water
is drifting