Whose World

I am in a world
without a surface,
without a face,
without a name.

I see doors
huge of oak
without handles
dark, and foreboding.

There is a woman,
She stands by a door,
small, petite, silky hair,
emerald eyes.

She beckons me
from a distance,
forefinger moving
arm stretched out.

I move a pace,
or two,
forward, then back.
She is gone.

Robert Allison
27/04/79 

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