I will miss the hush
and I will miss the space.
The light in these wide corridors of sweeping superiority.

Smoked glass cells and abstract flowers splashed up
against the white white white white white.
That floor-to-ceiling day comes flooding into the dim.

We watched storms flicker over this city.
And thanked the coffee machine for its bounty.
Oh, temperature-controlled life.

On Fridays I am so alone in my warm silence,
I dance to Lana Del Rey in my chair.

And wonder how I’ll stay alive out there.