By Alexandria Somirs
They unhinge at any loss of secrecy,
They swing to the sound of privacy.
Tree-ringed faces on both sides
One with old soul’ed murmurings
And one with joyful birds of fear.
Ears can’t penetrate the ones of oak,
So best to let the secrets soak,
Is silence a friend that beckons you?
Then knock intently trice,
And listen for the silent hue.
Pivot slightly the cool, braze knob,
Or use the key to release its squeeze,
And let ring its click-ed sneeze.
Open wide and step right in,
A table, a desk, a fire perhaps,
All wait for your pulsating song,
Absence of all clickery sounds….
Now close the door,
As door’s final click,
bellows private sounded echos
Swings in breathless spaces of…
your sweet silence.
Photo by Alexandria Somirs