My Door Is Not Always Open

img_20160705_084404.jpgMy door is not always open.
Sometimes I lock it up tight,
pull a chair into the shadows, and turn off all the lights.

I wrap my hands around the warmth of a cup of green tea.
I sit and I sip and I ponder the mystery that is me.

I do not answer the door.
I do not get up for the phone.
For beck and call love to conspire against any time alone.

The mug is cold and empty now.
The door unlocked again.
Having been a friend to myself I can now be a friend to friend.

November 2, 2007

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