"empty office" (mini-sonnet 3)

Strange the night
    grows late while
        just a little

    here in
        solitude of an
            empty office


passing the
    idle while
        typing letters that

    appear
        undaunted
            black on white


or whie on
    black . . .
        words to recite

    or whisper
        back to the
            empty (as it's


blithely tokened)
    lingering
        air