I approach doorways in dreams,
but they never open, because keys
crumble in my hand.
I’m a grain so misunderstood,
in single lines on a hard surface,
where my love levels out confusion’s sand
and I scratch at the sad unknown.
When glints recover me and
I attach myself to the now
as you would want me to.
I am a sketch between the gaps,
in a transforming phase, so I
may be present for me and those I love.