The Joy of Secret Spaces

I like the closed spaces
of narrow staircases
with twisting turns,
of rooms within rooms
secret hallways behind walls,
of doors within doors,
like an old Andalusian house:
turn this knob and enter
through a wide door;
but turn this knob and enter
with your lover.

Outside these tall walls
space is not spiraling inwards
but frighteningly spiraling outwards
so that I fear that
it might unravel me
like a thread of string
spun out from a shrinking
ball of yarn.

Outside spaces try
to draw me out of myself,
telling me to open doors
I would rather keep safely shut.
It is the unique character of open spaces
that one can be fully clothed
yet at once feel completely naked
unlike secret spaces
in which one feels
completely clothed in one’s skin.

So, give me a pen and paper
and I will draw a house to dwell in
and my lines will spiral inwards
towards a warm hearth.

“What is the purpose of this?” you ask.
“And someone would surely get lost
Getting to their bedroom!”

“Because I like the womb-like feeling
of being lost,” I answer.
“Because I do not yet know how to live
in a world where I am found.”

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