Wednesday, May 02, 2007

In, Through, Out

It was only an open door,
why was I afraid? It was just a door,
with rusting hinges and paint peeling from the jamb.
It hung a little crooked,
and I couldn’t see beyond—
but I could hear.


I think it was music.

I think I smelled roses
like wine
and jasmine
like birdsong
I think I heard music.

I remember wanting to dance.

If only the door had been closed
I would have banged on it
kicked it in frustration
demanded to be let in
to savor the roses
and maybe join the dance.

But it was open
and if I had looked
I would have gone in

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