Why Do Doors Go Skinny At Night?

Half-life shutters, slits to peer through
expecting less eeriness over there.
Straight edges into eternity, curves arch
into the simplicity of slats. Moonshine seeps
through like stair steps, launch pads,
stepping stones perhaps to a bar room
of silent brawlers and baby snakes
or a sanctuary for the unrewarded dead.
I’m not scared, not really. I can run back
through swinging gates. If the dream
is too narrow, constricted, I push
them apart like a threshold yawn
to let me pass.