Locked Door

The steady rhythm within, unaware of its erosion, whispers your name.
Only bits of brass and wood separate me from you.
My thoughts are fixed, retracing your countenance,
weaving in and out of memory;
Fears master me and I lean down to glimpse into the void,
where shadows dodge the pale light.
There is no end to this night.
I reach and the cold metal slips easily between fingers,
yet there is only a stillness that patiently awaits your return.