Passing
Passing
this is what I look like
I diminish
dwindle into smaller and smaller particles
my voice is an ant's
so slight it doesn't cleave the sky
or reach a basement door
I inhabit my prison where visitors don't fit
only the nurse, the doctor
and I, and a door with no keyhole
no one stays or lets me
remember the corridor I walked
and still walk with hidden memories
light shifts, titillating in the afternoon
criss-cross, traverses from wall to wall
and evades dark hallways
while I sit and follow sundust paths
that question closed memory boxes
stored until they crumble
this is what I look like
I diminish
dwindle into smaller and smaller particles
my voice is an ant's
so slight it doesn't cleave the sky
or reach a basement door
I inhabit my prison where visitors don't fit
only the nurse, the doctor
and I, and a door with no keyhole
no one stays or lets me
remember the corridor I walked
and still walk with hidden memories
light shifts, titillating in the afternoon
criss-cross, traverses from wall to wall
and evades dark hallways
while I sit and follow sundust paths
that question closed memory boxes
stored until they crumble