wind cave
My garage door is always locked
It doesn’t like to open
The key in the hole is always blocked
But I don’t think about it often
It welcomes me a few times a year
The light bulb warms its cold glass
Floating my memories near
Skimming over the past
When I turn the light off, it’s not there
The room disappears to a door frame
I might catch it if I stare
On my way to another place
Maybe if the key worked, I’d familiarise my eyes
With its walls, floors, boxes and such
But I think that I’ve realised
I don’t think that much.
rough flint