It’s too cold for the first night of a new season. All gone, the neighbors’ cars. Are you alone? Where are they? Perhaps the flight,   the one carrying your daughter and wife, is delayed? But didn’t they go by bus? Is everything portentous? Is everything your life?   You’re waiting, obviously, for anything to change: maybe a door will open, a way through the wall; maybe a folded note, a surprise call   will pry your heart’s elastic pocket. Or not. Quick—try to lock it.