And then one day, everywhere you look,
a door, waiting for you to open it.
In the apple tree. In the parking lot.
in a blade of grass. In each stone.
Not that it appeared because you are here.
More that it always existed and now
you can see it. In the asphalt drive.
In the dotted line. In the telephone ring.
In the scent of lemon. And every door
a world you might choose to enter.
Kiss on the neck. Cloudy sky.
Magpie wing. News headline.
You can’t possibly enter them all.
Button hole. Rising bread.
Sometimes you can go back
and the door will still open. Sometimes,
even on the most familiar path,
you can never go back again.