Here is the key, the weight
of an anvil. The door too is heavy
as if every cell of its wood infused
with gravity presses in on itself.
Implosion is a form of escape;
the question is where?
Things that were once free
are locked away. The more I know,
the tighter I hold; the stronger
the body, weaker the soul.
But what do I really know
about leaving? Those who have
gone will never tell.