A Poem by Roger G. Singer

Half Open

The door of us remains mostly open.
One side with me, the other you;
I glimpse us as part shadow, part
sometimes real.

Fingertip distance separates the
breath of us; miles of words build
the bridges we burned.
I stand full of thought.  A cultured pearl
is jealous of your face.  The altar of
life bears witness of our faith.
Hope is bathed to the end.
The jackets of our skin save
us from cold days and rain.
Songs know us.  Days fondly see us
into night.  I am the word to
open wide the door.