The door swings open and my tools fall I run out to catch the sun in my hand breathe clean air too dark too stale in there I go to find a person with a face a name a plan for playing the game by secret rules not in drawers or behind doors but everywhere else the space just is to be in. Stretch out your arms reach and feel it on your fingers' ends all that time clinging to your skin time to begin time to pick them up again go in.next poem