What’s behind a closed door?
I look at one now, white
I want to see through it
I focus, strain my sight
The door I see — does the door see me?
This door – or is it a gate?
Is it entry? Or is it exit?
On which side is there a bait?
This barrier, it is man-made
The board’s too wide and the board’s too tall
I am, yes, alone on this side
There, across, anyone I’d recall?
This door, this gate, entry, exit, barrier
From twenty steps back, it looks, well, so minute
As it should, clearly, to fit within a head
I painted it white; there’s the print of my boot
But this door, this door, the great barrier
In my head, my head — has my printed sole
Pry it open, force it out, kick it in
In my heart, my heart — seek, my squinting soul!