The Tale of the Door
I am a door; I open and close.
I go hither, I depart to enter.
One world is an umbrella for another.
I slam, I click quietly, secretly,
if you see me on one side
you'll find me on some other far-side.
Here is another wooden reality.
There is always a handle to turn;
if I turn it right
I can avoid the left side of a brain.
Avoidance lurks in the locked lock.
Acceptance opens a gift
for the asking of it.
Beyond the entrance,
(for a heartbeat),
I am placeless, not here nor there,
not yet a toehold,
phantom-like, cold former feet linger
rooted in a fractured concrete.
The tale of the door is a mystery;
inner and outer burgle one another
only discover
who they were before this.
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