Return

The parking garage
Was all but empty,
A bit of grey light

From the day poking
Through grating to mix
With the fluorescents.

No one was walking
To the few parked cars.
Scattered dead leaves swirled

Against the concrete
Corners, having been
Blown through the stairwells.

To be a person
In a human place
When there aren’t any

Other people there
Is a kind of grace.
Immediately,

Despite the concrete,
Fluorescence, and grates,
Immediately,

It isn’t human.
Immediately,
It’s back to being.