You see blood on the keyhole
at the side entrance to a person
within whom you live
Doubt turns you away
and gives the body's stigmata
time to heal
A gaunt face calls you back
the weighted chest lets you in
the party is going strong
suffering is out in the open
More and more you leave
words for those who can use them
On tiptoe you sneak past
the big room
- a stop that would elate you -
and climb the back stairs,
dropping your coat with the others
Below, the doors to the big room's
balcony open over a spilling lawn
Someone has raised a glass
in your honor
You see into shadows
past the lit necessity
of sweating trees
where your restlessness labors
Your hand moves slightly,
an involuntary salute with intention
to make good on escape
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