I’m collecting keys,
weighed with opportunities
that stretch my pocket

The places we cherish
The moments in those
The people we share it
Who's doors are never close.

The horizon is what we choose
It could be a mile it could be a pool
Bringing light into darkness
Can be one's greatest tool

Sailing has never been easy
The wind takes its share
Being steady in all weathers
Is a drift so fair and rare.

At every turn I have looked
listened, felt around for a door
a door here and a door there
one that would open
let in the air
let me aboard
not afraid nor bored
or in doubt
always leaning toward
life, whatever would restore
the child’s enthusiasm
the young man’s excitement for the next adventure.

So many doors:
music, art, trees, flowers,
incense, a lover’s lips,
poetry, stories, a lunar eclipse,
lizards, drums, psalms,
the smell of her hair, the feel of her arms.

Still I search for a door open to the light
to heaven and depth and height.

Rustling winds of spring,
spread through,
half open oak branches,

Shrew peeps her button nose
throwing a tidy pile of earth,

Near the crystal falls,
Spring rain darts through
infrequently,

Before amber nectar eyes,
like a vale of intrigue ,

Hovering; a blue ***,
Chirpes questions

Sparks of a teale flame,
Pearl along aimlessly,

Through crowded doors,
and empty rooms,.

A rooster awoke;
today's flower,

Bellowing of frightened hollows,
along frictional caves,

Rattling off its distractions,
Ever more engaged,

Healing with its new sound,
Shrew meets the blue ***,

Pecked into the old oak -
Blue ***; Today is the day

Shrew; to finish enchanting.