Some doorways are sealed,
shut as tight as a made-up mind.
Others groan slightly ajar,
essences and aromas contending in the narrow spaces.

There are still others wildly agape,
easy access to the multitudes.
A doorway can be the portal through which
pass faceless travelers, local heroes

alien conscience, ideas replete with grit and gristle,
thistles driven by the desert wind.
Behind the closed door tremble the fearful
lying under siege.

The caravan waits beyond,  
bearing salt and emancipation.
Through the doorway of slim margins
a curious commerce exists:

flesh is bartered for knowledge,
eyes for vision, 
existence for hope.
The cavernous opening offers no filter: 

the hyena enters under the belly of the camel,
the snake takes possession of the garden.
The infidel is blinded by the sand.
The believer looks upon the face of God.

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