Mark Cunningham

  

 

Second Story
 
Space Behind the Door

 
  Where heat separates from light,
light from heat.  You’re not sure
if you’re more afraid of finding
 
your shadow or missing it.
Space stays still for a small
constellation, maybe triangulum,
 
visible mostly when your
own breath can blind you.
You wish it would
          
free you from its pull.
But if your wish is granted,
that means. . . .
 
Leave the door open
and anything can come
in.  Close it
 
and you engulf
the room.  Sooner or later
you go someplace else. 


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