Friday’s Poem: Property Of

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,

off limits,

truly not open to her.

And she has stepped away, vacated the premises.

For now.

This place, it beckons. It whispers: enter.

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