door

When it’s hard to get out the door in the morning

I sometimes tell myself the door is an open field

with birds doing their birdy things in it

beside a bubbling brook I can always follow

to a crystal-clear pool where the trout I imagine

communing with can always show me the right

way to wait for what I want.

It’s either that or I see the door as merely something

I can shut, lock and walk through and that’s that.

To be honest, I’m not sure I could do that anyway.

With the power of the mind, I trained myself

to walk through walls and fly over the trees not

unlike the way a ghost might when it gets sick of halls,

and there was even a time I thought I

made the television move back and forth by simply

imagining myself small and moving through it.

In my dreams people and animals speak in hyperbole,

and in this one, one is saying the eyes can be like doors

you walk through on your way to heaven. But I’m

thinking that’s hyperbole for me wanting someone to

to love me who hasn’t yet.

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