The Door

By Kaye Lee

You drew the line,
built a wall along it.
The only door
is camouflaged,
locked from your side.
You keep the key
in the pocket
of your black suit.
The wall curves.
When I walk
its length
it meets itself,
becomes a circle.
You are inside
nothing of me.
But sometimes
you unlock the door,
and we stand together,
backs to the wall,
facing the bright plains.

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