Monday, May 18, 2009

The Door*

the future then

standing on that road
outside Blaubeuren
even the dust
shines and is white

staring with eyes
at the wheatfield becoming

more than wheat, or
for the first time, wheat

a vibratory world
of timeless power, humming
molecular dynamo
and awesome geometry

razor-sharp planes

electric blue &
liquid gold

if i could see
then, the battering years

shocked, drugged, poor
in all ways; or
just that one terrible
moment when i smashed
my head repeatedly
on the linoleum floor
to free it—

would i still stare
through this shimmering door

feeling myself enter?

[*“The Door” was the final poem in my self-published collection Black and White Pictures After a Rainstorm, 1988.]

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