Most doors are half open
The young approach and fling open
So much depends on seasons
Yellow petals spring open
La lumière is not flicked on
Light is a hand flicking open
A prophet hangs on blindness
Sight is a seam splitting open
Faces of strangers pass like gates
Ask a question, a latch swings open
Lessons in flight are simple
Jump off the edge with wings open
The path appears and disappears
The heart is a map to bring, open.
Header photograph © Heather Wharram.