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
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