The Door

Say, junk drawer to anyone; 
there’s a slight start, 
     acknowledgement, 
        a momentary smile—
 
reaction to being found out.  
Then the little door 
     at the back of your brain opens
          at the top of its stairs.  
 
Quiet light speaks from it; 
and you rise without steps, 
     pass through 
          into your own

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