The chairs never ask
Who plans to sit, they just expect
Backs of various widths, the heft
Of our life’s weariness.
Walls embrace shadows and laughter alike,
The key turns in the lock with a whisper:
Here you may enter with your burdens,
Here, the floor knows the trudge of your feet.
In the tender conspiracy of the hearth,
Each room conspires to cradle your sighs,
The windows, even when dark, frame
Your every dance of solitude.
What blueprint of kindness draws
A residence for one’s own soul?
Brick by brick, I lay down the rooms
Where no knock is needed, no excuse.
In the architecture of acceptance,
We are both the door and the threshold,
Our own generous hosts, ready to pour
Another glass of silence or solace.