Poem - Waiting

WAITING

I stand in a threshold place.

Lingering in shadow, I wait.

That door ajar is not for me.

I accompany another.

She, too, waits. 

This is not a place for the living,

But I am steeped in it.

From under this ancient arch,

Beside the waiting door,

I look back towards that other world -

Of flesh and blood.

They are all going places,

Wanting things, seized by

The drama of their moments.

They talk to me as though I am with them there.

But I am here,

Looking at them but

Carrying the shadow of this place

Deep in my bones.