The morning air is heavier than I imagined.
I have never been up and out this early
and if I am up, I’ve spent it contained within my four walls.
Summer days pass me by; this is the first time
I heard the palm trees of my street rustle and listened to it.

I pass by a neighbor’s house
a man I’ve never seen before mows the lawn carefully enough
to not hit the countless, colorful folderol on the property.
Come to think of it, I’ve never seen the faces of the people behind these doors.
I’m not from a place where people take walks.

There is no sidewalk on my street or the others surrounding it
if you want to roam you do it with four wheels not two legs.
Part of me feels there is no one in these houses
or these houses are flat slabs of wood painted like a backdrop of a play
and the silhouettes against the window at night are merely mechanical.

I laugh at the thought.
I wonder if someone looked out the window
they’d be surprised to see me walking on the road
and laugh at the realization that they don’t know me either.

I circle back and the house next to mine is boarded and abandoned
yet their lawn is greener and tamer than my dried one.
I’d like to think there’s someone in there
arising out of view, to water it each night.