The door was half open
or half closed. A silent message
of entry or release. Quiet held the
air hostage. Outside sounds found
another place to speak into day.
Moments of decisions gnaw at choices.
The whereabouts of capturing a thought
or driving it out hung in the balance.
Each life walks a line, visible to the
traveler, hidden from the weak.
The artist within shapes the canvas
with colors and shadows.
Half open, half closed, the seeds of
direction call to everyone.
