Tuesday, April 30, 2019

Kit Kelen #1217 - I keep a door in my woods


1217
I keep a door in my woods

is there some smaller than to be here hum?
beautiful biscuit into paint

over a stile it is a tree
was planed once, morticed

a rusting timber
leaves have stained

a world is passing either side
how many have come through?

out of this press, words otherwise
ancestors are

might lie in wait, climb stairs to it
and fallen just so far

a courtesy to knock
wait for the visit – my cure

the paddock between doors
the woods in the way

I hear frogs through there
cicadas of a summer long since

once I was lost for the word
keep them in the passage now

long grass waving unseen with the wind
still broad daylight in there

where a mansion could have stood
feet in the river

hung on a peg
only a nail

in my mother's long coat
the wrong key

nothing to lock up now

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