Because the door of words is thick and worn.
Each groove is smooth
with touch and weather.
Two cross-bars hold the walnut
planks together, and a push-latch springs
it loose with the clook of wood on wood.
Out wells the smell of rain
on winter-bare earth, as full as eyes
meeting across a room.
It slides on its hinge,
the wind of soft music
in low light.
On the other side, wet sage
livens the air in the sun.
Bitter-ripe willows
cover the curve
of the creek where it widens
into the meadow.
An eagle soars by on dark wings.
I cross over into the endless
galaxies of things I don’t know
with the desire of water
running
toward water.
Jenna Wysong Filbrun
Jenna Wysong Filbrun is the author of the poetry collection, Away (Finishing Line Press, 2023). Her poems have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net and have appeared in Amethyst Review, Autumn Sky Poetry Daily, ONE ART, and other publications. Find her on Instagram @jwfilbrun.
Wondrous.✨