Schrödinger's cat

I am Schrödinger's cat.

Dead and alive inside a burning box.

Dreaming and not dreaming in the shadow, in the light.

Breathing smoke and not breathing at all.

And I wonder what is left on the outside.

Maybe that too, the pretty little dreams of reality,

Are concurrently dead and alive, gone and still here.

.

The narrow hole that has been constricting for generations,

Has finally been pulled shut, by old arthritic hands.

The glass ceiling I dreamt of breaking with my strong-headed will

Has turned to iron

And suddenly I am a cat,

Permanently kept in the bag.

A bag sealed shut inside an iron box.