Closer

Closer the clock tics tuesday down the metal corridors smooth wind and calling voices rush wet and dark beside me an open door has the last eager breath of daylight tightly held a hand touches mine asking where I am in the story distance lasts forever but here the forgotten hours ring like little bells the play begins and stops I cannot tell which edge I've fallen from only that the down reveals the up I've given always ending always so much like the child lost face down in the image drawer waiting trusting that the arrow so many years in flight may hit some target some where a name finally given to this tiny spinning dot