Thresholds were meant
for crossing, but you linger
in the shadows, pondering
which way to fall: on one side,
music and jubilation among
gleaming strangers;
on the other side, the frayed
ends of a tangible mortal struggle.
Neither beckons.

Words swirl around your head,
and sun-faded images of your gilded past.
Wires and tubes tether you gently in place,
lest you float away.

That beeping noise does not sound
like my heart, you think, as you slip
back into sleep and resume your post
by the ethereal door.

Claire Juno, © 2016

…please pull through.