Distracting rays were shining round my door
And so I stood
And stepped across the landing floor
To see if any light-source could
Be ascertained but, once I was outside,
I checked my stride.
Out there I found a stretching corridor,
So down I walked.
I had not noticed it before.
On every lintel, names were chalked
And soon I stalled at one that was well-known:
It was my own.
The hinges creaked. I cautiously went in,
A room where sunlight lapped my skin
And central was a swivel chair.
It spun about. I felt a smile extend:
‘Good morning, friend.’
This figure gestured me towards an arch
And I, determined, moved to march
Its way, but paused: ‘I should express
Some thanks—‘my friend, however, waved and said,
‘You go ahead.’
Once I had ventured in I felt betrayed,
As I discerned
A maze of winding walls that made
Me dizzy, sad, until I turned
One corner and (in hope of what?) I saw
Eager, I entered, to a gallery
Of portals, each a vacancy
For liberty. I realised
I’d never loved a room. It is the door
That I adore.
from The Multiverse (Carcanet, 2018), © Andrew Wynn Owen 2018, used by permission of the author.