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 leaks 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 on bent wires
sway in the silence.
Limbs heavy against gravity.
Blurred edges of once-bone, lost breath.
Only dust motes rise
to meet
a
stray
sunbeam