It’s a mad clamor for the door,
Bodies trying to squeeze into a heart that
Divides all who enter.
They go up like a tinderbox,
Waving as tendrils of smoke who have lost their forms
To some unholy spirit, writhing in an emptiness.
They vanish with a breath.
Their echoes are heat, and shadows.
This poem first appeared on Poet’s Corner April 20, 2016