Almost one hundred per cent
of the time I have spent
in doorways was intentionally
transitory. I was moving 

from one place to the next
and the brief time in the doorway
was not a time I saw
as significant. 

There were moments
where I hovered between
and those matter more now
than they did then. 

I look back and see how
the time between spaces
should have held me
tighter than it did.

It would surely have Prepared me
for more wonder.
Might have prepared me
for dispassionate scrutiny

of my options, exposed 
views of possibilities: past, future,
most of all of the moment:
the chance to lean between

and think. I might have
moved on, I might
have retreated, 
or I might still be there

thinking about
passages and how they are framed,
how I fail when I do not
stop to consider that.

Here is another doorway.
Rooms on either side.
Up to me and only me
whether or not to pass

unless the choice is seized 
from me and I fall
forward or backward or 
collapse in a heap where I am.

If that happens, friends, push me through
to the next room and let the people say
it was my choice to go that way. It might be
the truth. No one will ever know otherwise.