DoorI open and closemy favorite door to hear the whine of its hinges; it doesn't lead anywhere but dark, and I never go out. I have binoculars, good eyes. Door seems to have grey eyes; I'm not sure. He never smiles but is always friendly in his way. I catch the scent of forest, pine needles, mushrooms when I open him, sometimes when I stand close and knock. I think he's a bear sometimes when I wake late-- I wish he were. He could protect me. And I could walk with him in the daylight, ask him questions about how it feels. He never growls. And when I wake he's just my door through which, someday, I'll leave. -Michael Hettich |
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