Midnightness

The soft salt crunching of my own footsteps
Is all I hear out on an empty night.
The ice is freezing on the frontporch steps,
And gleaming in the ill-reflected light
Spread by the lamp that flickers by the door.
I turn the key and click into the house,
And see what should be there and nothing more,
Not even any stirring by the mouse
Traps set out in the corner of the hall.
I wonder idly if there is a way
To fill the room with noise, and then I fall
Into my chair and, much too loudly, say
I'm home. The walls will echo back to me
But nothing else. I sit back quietly.