Opening Doors

I hold the door
expecting nothing from the next ghost to trace my footsteps,
save to meet my gaze
some recognition of our synchronous existence
but my gaze falls short,
met only by cold, dark plastic
impermeable to my expectations,
existent or not

I might speak
but my words too would fail,
drowned out by ones from space
pressed tightly to an ear,
far more timely than mine

So I am silent
another ghost
invisible to the well dressed eye
opening doors and moving things about
making noises
in a crude attempt to make my presence known
If not felt


MD