door poem by Betania TeschDuring the secrethour,
softened blue hazes
filled with beauty
unravel themselves and slide
through the keyholes
of the doors between people,
threading in and out,
transforming those locked
storage closet spaces
in every person
and pulling the deadbolt open.
The entrances and exits
become blurred for just
a moment or two
while mouths connect
and skin fuses together
and breathing is millions
of lungs strung together
by the common bond of doorknobs
no longer useful for
opening or closing
the now-obsolete doors of isolation. 07/29/2002 Posted on 07/29/2002 Copyright © 2025 Betania Tesch
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