Doorways

What obsesses me
With writing about writing?
Ruminating upon this entry-point
Into my deeper things -
It's like someone preoccupied
With doorways.

It's easier to comment on
The act of entering the room
Than what's actually in it.
The room contains a whole world
And where should one start?
The door was the beginning.

But no sooner commented on
And we're past it -
We're in the room
And you're expecting a remark
About the furnishings.
They're lovely

But I'm still at the door
Because I know that I'll be back here
So I want to know more.
Proportionally, I'm spending more time here
Than inside. I'd ask the question
If I knew what it was.

The door is my tether,
The ground point of the extended metaphor,
And it's where I'll go back to
When I lose my way.
"How did you get here?" they might ask.
"Well, it all started with writing."