Letters I've Written, Never Meaning to Send

Old Barn Doors



(I had this feeling when) He said
“take this and throw it like a stone,
further than the last”,
(trickery)
so I
would stand still long enough
for stars to dissolve the night sky.

Dreams are just forgotten
reality, (fantasy and reality
are too far apart, I lie)

when released, they stretch out
across the thousand light
arcs of heaven, and feel the latch
to the door I keep closed

(just against the cold, I lie)

(just against the loss in the dark,
I truth)

He feels the barn door in me,
the reassuring iron taste
of the old latch tempts me
with a familiar safety;
but this
silent ease with which
we unstring our remembering
is more gentle in the soft
light of the new moon.

The door is opening,
letting in the bloom of summer sky
and the still of quiet.