Originally written in 1996.
These days they build
new doors out of balsa,
nearly out of butter, hollowcored, empty;
we are losing the thrill of opening doors.
No longer do we wish or try to push hard.
The clunk of brass latches falling into place is fading from memory.
We are forgetting the comfort that bubbled within us
once resistance was overcome.
We have disembodied ourselves.
Already unable to remain entranced
with the sounds of our lovers for long,
the day may be coming when each of us
will fail to recognize a brother, a sister;
soon, we may no longer know
anything our senses tell us.
The question rings out:
how can we sleep knowing
in the soles of our feet,
in the ledges of our ears,
that we are feeling less each day?
How can we sleep knowing
that all what of we move through daily
without giving it attention
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