I saw a tree
pretending to dress in modern
with sunglasses polarizing the commandments

of season - though singed wood is fire poetry
on papa-paper, it takes a very leafy eye
to make sense of, so it thrusts out a door knob

from its navel
& I saw a door.

the best doors have a mirror behind them
throw open with force and it shatters - a dustpan
a broom, a very languid material meditation, till
it comes unhinged, the lines on the frame curl back

like in a sinkhole, and freeze
in rings of age again.

I am a tree
& am a door

always ajar for you /
always ajay for you.

~Ajay
2/8/2019