House With No Doors (Poetry)

Prologue:
The nature of love is tenacious and blind
it clings onto fragments while decades unwind
imprisons the moment — for age is unkind
chains down its desire but unhinges the mind.

I can see you out there in the garden — lingering
but I cannot come to meet you
now the house no longer has its doors
so I’ll wave from this high window —
up here — the third one along
with a broken quarter pane on the out-of-bounds top floor.

No one else lives here — the stairs fell victim to woodworm attack
so it’s unsafe for visitors to climb
there are signs that warn NO TRESSPASSERS — KEEP OUT
and they bricked across both doorways — front and back
just to underline the danger
but tramps don’t read and I’ve no inclination to shout.

I see that you have come alone — no scary
ghost-spotting gang in tow to gawp and snoop
and you seem weary — sighing like you’re searching for someone...
The raindrops on the glass have begun to run
as though the house is crying silent
while I stay acting dumb.

Maybe you cannot see me in this light
now dusk is falling and the drizzle veils
the worst of the decay — I’m sure I look a fright —
thin and pale — I wasn’t expecting you
to call again so soon — it’s only been
a lifetime since I last saw your face.

And you are so much like your father’s father —
my brother knew this house — lived within its gloomy stain
now you are his other shadow on the ruined lawn
and if I had the courage to I’d leave this room or at least call
out his name (and yours) but then I fear those phantom doors
might open and the past would tumble through...
                                if evicted — I’d have no place to go.

Epilogue:
A vagrant memory — recurring dreams about the dead —
brick up the mind’s age-rotted doors — keep close the guilt inbred.