An Old Door

An Old Door

                                                        Barra de Navidad, January 12, 2007

Across the cobbled street from this cafe
A half-built  wall, and then an opening, blocked
By wire netting, plastic-covered, green
And inoffensive to the eye. Beyond,
A dusty passage between two buildings leads
Down to an empty, quite familiar beach.

Against  the netting, facing me, there leans
An old, abandoned, useless wooden door,
Weathered to various shades of silver-gray,
Its handle rusted, panels dark outlined
Except for a missing one across the top.
It is no longer a door, just an old,
Decrepit object leaning on a net;
And yet, its surface sparkling in the sun
Seems to beckon me with quiet insistence
As if to invite more intimate approach.

I see no more the dusty emptiness,
For through that door -- if I could open it --
I half-perceive another, richer realm,
Where imagination runs its riot
Among exotic beasts, and birds and flowers
With pelt, plumage and petal of every color,
Where words, once heard, are seen and felt and savored,
Where verses gently float through the fragrant air
Like multi-colored kites on the evening breeze
Or pelicans gliding home across the lagoon,
A place where gods and spirits are at home,
Where spells have power and metaphors are real.

This surge of romantic images makes me feel
Perhaps I should keep my distance from that door.

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Note: There is a picture of this door in the album

Pictures. Mostly connected to my poems.  (E) Selected photographs. #1167737 by Bill Kinahan