The Door Locks Open Behind Me

It’s just like that picture of Virgil
I drew in the dust on the mirror:
I find myself in a coffee shop.
And just as I’m about to tire of waiting,
the funeral starts next door
and I hear your voice whispering
across the heart of perfect wisdom.
The pluralled syllables punctuated
by touches to the chime.

You seep through the mud and straw between
and 10,000 tiny petals appear, decorating
this wall of thatch and scratches.

A garden of fragments of
the fragrant flower.

And, so, I know
all that’s needed is at hand,
here. Now,
with only two sips left in my cup,
I check that no one’s not safe
beyond the gate of calm
and repromise to never leave
a single being behind.

Thus,
the door locks open behind me
and new friends wave goodbye
without making the slightest
effort.



by jerry gordon
12.21.06 cafe amanto