Sad on Samhain

I keep myself 
almost half-dead; 
I hold my breath, 
don't let my life expand 
beyond the grasp 
of my hands. 

I sense everything 
with a lack of oxygen. 
The empty tanks 
are sinking 
and me along with them. 

The old people 
in their tombs 
know why I'm here. 
I am meant to stand 
on the threshold; 
but, holding still 
I let the ghosts 
wait another year.