No one called. The blank red eye gapes back at me:
                    an unblinking stare. My days lack necessity,
                    as shapeless as old pyjamas whose elastic has
                    lost all tension, my life down around my ankles.

                    Where all the urgent calls: contacts to make,
                    articles to write, meetings attend?
                    The question hangs like a dustcover in a space
                    once occupied by camaraderie.

                    You can’t dip your toe in the same stream twice.
                    Water converts to ice when temperature
                    drops; Nothing remains as before.
                    Such qualitative change impossible to ignore.