throwback

I sit with boxes
that talk to me -
a friend,
a stranger,
a mirror,
without hooks,
holding space for me
in a stolid silence,

memories,
questions,
doubts,
emotions,
thrown back,
from a busy head
into an empty skin,
washing over
from beyond,
like the ancient wind,

bringing me
face to face
with that dark threshold,
where I must walk
with no one but myself,
before I look and leap
into what throws me
into life, and death.