You will want to make love on a cold spring night.
But that is the last thing you should ever do.
Open the door, inhale the frosty air, get hit by the wind.
Watch the assembled garbage cans on the curb fall,
as if they were dominoes of smell and waste.
The house across the street has always been dark,
not even a porch light to make the place seem human.
On one side a couple stays alive through their nineties,
while on the other a new family blasts rock from trucks.
One night you saw a owl seal itself against a tree,
before it flapped massive wings for its scary hunt.
You are not a mouse so you have nothing to worry about.
Even the televised signals you keep on in the living room
warn you about conflicts you don't quite believe in.
The best thing that could happen is the appearance of deer
walking across the street, gingerly, as if they could be shot
at any moment, as if you too could be assassinated
in your home, and people would collect your antlers,
mount them on walls where big game hunters chuckle,
drinking their gin and tonics, smiling at everything.