I know this sounds petty,
he said, and from across
the room I walked into
his pause
there was a long corridor there,
narrow and windowless, dim
with many doors. The knobs
were grimy from dust and lack
of use. And I walked and I walked.
There were no doors I wanted
to open. And I walked.
And the doors grew larger, or
perhaps I grew smaller, smaller
until I could walk right between
the door and the floor. And the hall
stretched on
yes, I said, my voice
so small even I could
not hear it anymore.