What blandishments the world offers:
                               the hook, the gun, the coated pill —
                               anything to crack the darkness,
                               to still the air so resonant
                               with unplayed music. Somewhere
                               down the hall a red exit light
                               blinks and beckons me.
                               I hold my breath.

                              Still, I am heavy in my bones,
                              weighted here, my blood
                              making its ordinary rounds
                              down narrowing pathways.
                              Now the moon comes out,
                              a rag of light at the window.
                              Now the rhythmic music starts again:
                              the breathing out, the breathing in.