Friday, March 8, 2024


At the end of the hall 
which is 
all that exists between us, 

there used to be 
an unlocked door 

through which we 
could pass 
on an errand or two 

to the stacks—
those dank archives of 
pitiful feeling 

we'd been hording  
on the off-chance 

an adventurer 
would come looking 

and discover there 
the treasure that would 
make them world-famous. 

And through that hall 
and the labyrinths 
which surround it 

have long since fallen 
into disrepair, 

I can tell from this distance 
that the door 
is still there—because 

every time you ask me 
where I've been or 
how it's going, 

I can faintly hear 
the quick pop 
of a lock—and the sound 

of it stubbornly  
creaking open.