‘…a language no one hears.’

    January 8, 2018

    19th & Irving

    I wake this morning with a sadness.

    Can’t find it. Can’t shake it. But with

    my third coffee, I notice the French doors on the balcony across the street,

    slightly open.

    They seem to speak in a language no one hears

    unless sad. Suddenly, the whole world depends

    on the thin opening of these doors: on what

    they let in, on what they let out. Like my mind,

    or your heart. All day I look for opened doors;

    left open, blown open, broken open. Doors

    whose latches have finally worn down. Is this

    what sadness is for: to wear our latches down?

    -Mark Nepo

    The Way Under the Way; The Place of True Meeing

    Posted by dayle at 3:25 pm
    Filed in: Café Pictures
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