He keeps the window open almost always.

For he can’t shake off the dusty layer he’s gathered over time.

His elbow has a bruise, purple yellow at a glance, from bumping into walls,

Down darkening halls, he has no reason to travel.

But he keeps a distance from the door, never seems to reach it.

It used to creak, that door, the front door on the first floor,

Where many, too many, have stood in indecision

On the other side, never his side.

He can’t see the scuff marks on the once white threshold,

Where they’ve stopped, moved no farther,

No further, in his case, in any event, in an emergency he would step out, step over.

No doubt, one day soon he will, he’ll have to leave.

But until that day, until that time,

He keeps the window open almost always.

d’Verse Poetics – Oral Poetryhttps://dversepoets.com/2021/08/31/poetics-oral-poetry/

Photo above from Unsplash taken by Frank Busch.