The Tale of the Door

I am a door; I open and close. I go hither, I depart to enter. One world is an umbrella for another. I slam, I click quietly, secretly, if you see me on one side you'll find me on some other far-side. Here is another wooden reality. There is always a handle to turn; if I turn it right I can avoid the left side of a brain. Avoidance lurks in the locked lock. Acceptance opens a gift for the asking of it. Beyond the entrance, (for a heartbeat), I am placeless, not here nor there, not yet a toehold, phantom-like, cold former feet linger rooted in a fractured concrete. The tale of the door is a mystery; inner and outer burgle one another only discover who they were before this.