| Hole I slip past the long bolted door Into the room of my subconscious. Toes step, stop in nervous tremolos. I strain and squint in an attempt to see. Toes stir dust that tickles my nose. I sneeze in the silence that echoes and absorbs Distorting possible perception of space. My breath is wind down a chimmney, My heart, a timpani. How much is there I cannot see? My hands reach out in search of walls To take hold and set limits. Fingertips touch only air. I scramble for the looming door where I entered, It's not there. The inner void once carefully locked tight now floods my being. But, where lies the danger that needed to be locked away? There are no matches, lighters, candles, light switches here. My senses must adjust to nothing, And understand emptiness.© 1997 wendi loomis "Reflection in Fragments" |