all day i have been haunted by liminality.
the first last things. the beginnings of endings.
the words that have been said and must be said
and must be repeated a few times more, before.
it feels like i planned my own funeral
and got married at the wake — i don’t know how
to take the noise, what to do with the silence.
i’ve never walked this corridor to the end.
i’ve never opened the door and stepped out into —
but You tell me there’ll be a good place to land.