by Barbara Siegel Carlson
The door itself has no door.
But it opens to another door.
A keyhole blazes before you.
A door made of a pigeon wing.
In the palm you cannot see through.
Doors are locked even when they’re open.
How can you open a door you can’t see?
The heart of the door does not ache.
Darkness is a door that opens both ways.
The anxious knock of a lover,
the desperate knock of the pursued,
the hesitant knock of the estranged.
Souls pass through doors.
Stand between the double doors
where they whisper your name.
Copyright © 2011 by Barbara Siegel Carlson.