I wonder doors

I wonder doors. I wonder of doors. I wonder about doors. I wonder around doors. I wonder all about them. I wander. I wonder that makes a fun in my lung, an ache in my stomach, and nothing heavily sounding inside me, inside. Waiting. I wonder, and I wonder. I wonder what will come from this. I wonder if anything comes of anything. I wonder flowers nervously shaking in windy ways of winding words, whirling, and wondering. I wonder of empty wooden kegs full of the smell of earth and wine. I wonder bones and the sound of falling stones. I wonder of days and doors; I wonder doors. I wonder round. I wonder round. (I wonder if you love me.)

December 1971