Sounds Behind the Dark

When alone in a quiet space still the distant slamming of doors, or the rattle of castanets confirm that the world is not shut out but just moving from room to room, soon it will burst through paper-thin walls, skeletons will make love on tin roofs, harpsichords will rattle amid the bedsprings of sleep. The need to be alone even when alone, hides an even deeper want. Corridors where the days tramp echo with a ghostly clamor. Busy junctions behind closed eyes erupt where the dead and the living gather to talk louder than thought. To be the only listener at the water cooler or in a crowded auditorium; that is the answer. Alas when the hall empties, when the last exit closes behind the high pitched babble and laughter, there is still a strident chorus line of memories stomping echoing boards, a whooping louder than any voice anywhere.