The Doors That Bloom

Open your door to love

Photo by Alexander Tsang on Unsplash

The day folds at the spine in the doorway

and I come in smelling of work and someone else’s earth.

The door gives.

The garden asks nothing.

The faucet water is still water.

The flower you planted in March

opened alone while you weren’t watching.

There is a creature made of moss

that lives in the cracks of what you already know.

Only eyes that arrived tired can see it.

Bianca sleeps in her usual corner,

a warm shape breathing slowly,

and Daniela has light in the window

and something is being made that smells like it.

That’s all.

That’s all there is

and it weighs exactly enough

when you come in

and the door gives

and the garden asks nothing.