I Stand At The Door

I am not fifteen…
anymore.
I stand at the
door of the white house
and knock…
It is me
that answers…
I am the
long, bearded man,
I am the fifteen-year
old innocence
asking if I will marry
my love,
the one who sears my heart,
following me in my dreams
waking me
to me
all these years later…
I answer with the swirl of the cosmos…
I answer with the call of birds
and bare trees
where laughter
and tears still echo
down silent halls and rest
in giant oaks
and in the arms of my husband…
I answer with
the sound of
rushing water,
ancient rocks,
and ferns growing wild
on virgin slopes,
where innocence is,
and the world is whole…
I stand at the door
and open
to the unknown that calls me so clearly
in a language older
than time,
finding me after all these years
at the center place,
the threshold
of my longing…
I stand
at the door
and knock…

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