Knock, knock, tapping gently on the dome, what could it be, is it really just meat and bone?

Is a hand stuck inside conjuring up a storm? Tearing down walls and leaving nothing but stones.

Even I has barely had a glimpse, I wonder what’s hidden in those depths.

Light spills from the cracks, circling around like rays behind a solar eclipse

One day she came, she saw, gasped out loud and said, “All I see is red!”

What could it be if it’s all red?

Is it the dead?

What?

What’s inside my head?

– A. Garcia