under the boards

the block is a hollow echo
lights on in empty rooms
illuminate the walls
a single photo in a lonely frame
a doorway opened
but filled with darkness,
as if their inhabitants have been scooped clean
these rooms left as a memory
of those that once lived within their walls
painted periwinkle, ruby, and violet across their surfaces,
installed the single hooded lamp encased in green glass
the trio of cones that have been left on in their absence,
there is nothing as lonely as an empty room
waiting to be filled, to be used, to be needed
there is nothing as lonely as an empty room
when the murmur of voices seeps in from the room next door