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     portals, passageways and portages beckon today 
     windows open, their mullions gracefully seductive 
     behind ever neighbors house is a laughing horizon 
     it's a day of doors slightly ajar and half spoken thoughts
     every common street remembers 
     the urban grid and feveral highway system 
     that came here and can lead away 
     bikes are poised 
     trains sing in the distance
     there is gas in the car 
     a contrail of a jet bisects the sky 
     while birds wheel overhead 
     a truck goes by like an open invitation 
     I think the passport 
     is in the top left drawer
     of the desk in the spare room

- Ken Peters


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