behind that door.

she lives behind that door.
left all alone,
like that water on shore,
when the waves return.

she could sing to you,
of histories buried under stone,
of seas that turned to sand,
that sand which someone held,
and kept near for ages,
But as the hour glass broke,
it slipped to cover her
from bottom to head.

she could whisper to you
of a ship where an ocean sank,
of lost sailors that 
found a place where
the city never saw a land;
where,
strangers built houses,
from deck of cards,
black and red.

Black
like that hole in a broken branch
left as smoke that was never white.
red 
as the color of that stain on her lips,
left as footsteps
of those strangers who built those
houses in every corner in her,
she gave.


she lives behind that door.
left all alone,
she could have answered
But no one knocks her any more.