Sunday, July 19, 2009

"It is hard going to the door..."

It is hard going to the door
cut so small in the wall where
the vision which echoes loneliness
brings a scent of wild flowers in a wood.

What I understood, I understand.
My mind is sometime torment,
sometimes good and filled with livelihood,
and feels the ground.

But I see the door,
and knew the wall, and wanted the wood,
and would get there if I could
with my feet and hands and mind.

From "The Door (I)" by Robert Creeley, 1959. Read the complete poem here.

The Path to Paradise, Dieric Bouts the Elder, 1450.

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