Are you going to get up in darkness? he asked me.
Go to bed in darkness? Turn out the light.

The basin is full of darkness. Were your 
feet in it? No one can use it when it's filled

with darkness. Who killed the light and made
darkness. I want to be home now. This is 

home? I’m not going to forget this. The window 
is open. The heat is on hold. Not me. 

In the little white cup there, pills. My pills.
Is it time? The garbage should go out, but it’s

dark, and darkness paints me black. I need
more light. There are two pairs of pajamas here.

I can’t wear both but can change. Why are you
angry? What makes it dark? I keep forgetting. . . .