If all the world’s a stage and we are merely players,
Who builds the scenery?
Who manages the rigging?
Who runs the lights, and swaps out burnt-out bulbs?
Who sits in the box office, tallying receipts?
Who sells at the concession stand, or delivers the food for it?
Who sweeps the floor? Or hauls away the garbage?
And most important of all, who is out there in the audience?
It’s hard to see them through the lights.
But if you squint, you can see them in the darkness.
Or when it is silent, you can hear them breathing.
Raspy breaths.