"Aware" by Denise Levertov

When I found the door

I found the vine leaves

speaking among themselves in abundant

whispers.

My presence made them

hush their green breath,

embarrassed, the way

humans stand up, buttoning their jackets,

acting as if they were leaving anyway, as if

the conversation had ended

just before you arrived.

I liked

the glimpse I had, though,

of their obscure

gestures. I liked the sound

of such private voices. Next time

I'll move like cautious sunlight, open

the door by fractions, eavesdrop

peacefully.

― Denise Levertov

_ _ _

"skeletal"

"this [stair]well is CLOSED"

Telluric entanglement

Last to remember

"He drew windows" (Juarroz)

_ _ _

He drew windows everywhere.

On walls too high,

on walls too low,

on blunt walls, in corners,

on air and even on roofs.

He drew windows as if drawing birds.

On the floor, on nights,

on glances tangibly deaf,

on death's outskirts,

on tombs, trees.

He drew windows even on doors.

But he never drew a door.

He didn't want to enter or leave.

He knew one can't.

He only wanted to see: to see.

He drew windows.

Everywhere.

- Roberto Juarroz, tr. by Mary Crow

morning light peels off the doorframe

spills inside the promise of being here, now, another day

a bowl of holiness splashed on the marbled floor, for me

to walk across this door on consecrated sky-grounds, barefoot 

like newly baptized step into the world. i am grateful

for what it was and what is not

and for what i trust, tomorrow holds. 

"do souls resist?"

                                                                                    or drift, or rift -

[inter]locked mind

resemblance

in the dark corner of my eye

white is sacred. more so against the black. 

its purity too dense, unearthly. 

_ _ _ 

wordless pilgrim standing at the holy gate

hat in hand i beg you for a slice of bread

eternity away from entering the temple.