The door shuts. World severed.
Shrink to wardrobe size
on a Masonite plank
earthed by concrete blocks.

Objects heavy with years, press
in to the space meant for skies.

Light leak through nail scars
on the tin walls; open
to night crawlers.

Grids offer mesh-sized ration
of air,
of rain,
of light,
and the silt of everything else.

Silhouettes hang on bendable wires
swaying in the silence.

Limbs heavy against gravity.
Blurred edges of once-bone, lost breath.
Only dust motes rise
to meet
a
stray
sunbeam