According to well-known facts
there is limited entry and exit to or from
many places and scenes, tantalizing vistas.
And those who shift from foot to foot
in lines and parkways, or trails to somewhere
are dense with longings or anger. Tenderness.
Forbidden access, no entry, one way only:
detours are ordered, but nothing can assure
the detour will lead to desired destinations.
It’s all a projection, the end goal.
The expectation. The certainty that if
this turn is taken, others will make sense;
there will be a wedding of intent and result.
But it’s not only locked doors barred
to entry with a warning.
It’s what may or may not lie
beyond, within interior space,
in that secret darkness that plays and
captures light and insect wings, dirt
and dust that give shape to the haze
as it dissipates or stifles. Curiosity
urges some onward; a no becomes a yes.
What is hidden may be what the soul avoids.
Or seeks. Exploration takes risks.
But this time she cannot slip in to see.
She cannot contort enough to pass through
ancient joinery, melt beyond hairpin cracks, break the lock.
She sees blue shadows languish in the breath of silence,
yet give up little but impressions of other life.
Her mind, her being fit nothing here; the body balks.
Enter at your own risk, this is what
you have told her– neglected territory. Unknowns.
No one is certain what may come of trespass.
But she has heard and seen enough.
It is another realm, most private property,
truly not open to her.
And she has stepped away, vacated the premises.
This place, it beckons. It whispers: enter.