Peripheral (Poetry)

There have always been doors to either side —
indistinct suggestions, nothing more.
I’ve hardly been aware of them — shut tight —
of no concern or interest in what might
be their purpose — what they hide or where
they lead to — it hardly crossed my mind.

But lately, they stand a bit ajar —
to the side, each darkened arch defined
and growing more significant with time
that crack — that shadow stealing round the edge
is beckoning — a lure that now distracts
and I am drawn to wondering what lies

what imagination lives beyond
those openings — the portals left and right
always so peripheral to sight —
they move as I move — never seen head on —
turn too sharply and the haunting’s gone...
But they are there — their outlines on the wall

that borders a dimension — the way through
if intuition will allow that leap —
interpret voices almost out of range of all
but the most receptive ear which, straining, yearns
to hear the music from another room —
a world that trickles sound — teases from around

a corner — and perception shifts the land that hides
behind my back — brings it closer
and I feel a breath — a hint of breeze
remembered on my neck, wafting soft
where the mind plays older tricks —
the moment fades and senses power down.