(no subject)
Dry heat connecting my eyes and the pain not deep enough in my head. This old small doorknob is either locked, or it's broken. I can't get in this way. The distinguished sense of this place confides an ancient secret not yet understood. Several styles removed from today, it now has become magic. What is in there? The shape of the door. The crooked garden. Even the surrounding earth has begun to bulge in places, giving faces to hills and shadows. Home takes away the mystery.