Stuck

If you’re the type who can build,
Why not build yourself a home
Outside an existing door

That won’t open, that never
Opens. A mother-in-law,
A casita, a cabin,

A groundskeeper’s rough cottage,
An anchorite’s cell, what works
For you to live out life in.

Home’s not the important part.
The important part’s the door,
The door that never opens.

The vast structure around it
Is a memory palace
For dreams, and, like all things dreamed,

Has no clear definition,
Disappears at the edges.
That, too, is unimportant.

The door. In your little home,
You live outside the shut door,
Waiting for it to open.