By Colin James


I flushed 
red as a cuticle.
Relieved sighs
behind
extraneous doors.
Can we come in,
murmurs.
To what end?
Mine has finished
its dirty work.
The walking out and
even the walking in
presupposes.

Colin James has a book of poems, Resisting Probability, from Sagging Meniscus Press. He lives in Massachusetts.