A human skull, dug out of the earth, sits behind glass in a dark upstairs hall. The speaker notices it watching through the case while ordinary life goes on around it: people dance, sleep, fall ill, give birth, argue, and die. Doors open and shut, visitors come and go, coffins are carried out. All the while the skull is still, a silent observer.
But this is not a neutral keepsake. Earth still clings to its eye sockets, as if it has not really left the ground. The speaker feels watched and unsettled — not by gore, but by something patient and accusing. The mood turns quietly ominous: the skull has been taken from where it belonged, and it can afford to wait for its vengeance.