Pound, pound on the door
To my heart.
For I fear the swallowing stillness,
settling in like snow
On an old road.

Pound, pound until my veins,
Like dark mines, light up again
With orange bulbs-
And the voices of people I’ve been
Echo back
To my cavernous heart.
I will dance as the sound
Of their bickering
Beats. The walls. To life.

Pound, pound even when it seems
you are not welcome and only ghosts
Are listening.

Pound on that door
until your palms run red
And then listen,

While the echoes fade
And fall upon the rocks
Like Schroedinger’s cat,
dead and alive.
I will dance.
I will have danced.
Pound, pound
Pound, pound