A draft picks up dust
under the threshold
rummaging across
a hardwood floor
as light peers into cracks
of a door bolted shut;
built stoically
to ward off elements,
frozen or blazen,
energy still manages
to enter the room
where he is not.
For many months,
the only barrier
between hearth and sky
had been the framed screen
that allowed fresh air in
and kept bugs out;
which wind blew that
slammed the door shut
is hard to pinpoint-
but the heavy carved oak
hinged on rust, cooperated
in this particular separation.
Back up against it,
the quiet takes over
leaning hard on me;
the outside attempts
to rustle up memories
I fail to forget.
No comments:
Post a Comment