Aubade

Sometimes there’s a door
with no locks
always open just enough
to move through
inviting clean air in
its ribbed slats
sieving light
limiting the reach
of darkness
in its greedy rush
to bleed grief
past the edge
of morning

Always open
this door speaks
an emphatic word
unrelenting
bright forgiveness
washing through
our empty rooms
in an avalanche
of light