At the end of the tunnel was a door.
The door was closed,
the tunnel was dark.
A finger of light slid under the door,
like fingers it was full of shadows.
Someone was walking there
behind the door.
I could hear their footsteps;
their breath was like the rattle of wind
scouring the bones of trees.
I could see the way the shadows passed
to and fro, impatiently.
I could hear their fingers scraping along the doorway
as though to find an exit
though it was I that was trapped,
here in the darkness,
aching to be beyond that door,
afraid to discover what was behind it.