"if we slowly approach a surface of water
with our finger we often deceive ourselves
about when we are wet a patient may feel
the surgeon's scalpel while it is still a
slight distance away"
--David Antin, "Meditation 12"
When we come home, we often deceive ourselves about
when we actually get there. The door to the house
presents itself as an actual fact. Our key retracts
first the dead bolt and then the latch bolt and our
entrance becomes suddenly possible. We feel we are home
even before grasping the doorknob and leaning
our shoulder against the shutting stile, knowing full
well the door's slight reluctance to open
in hot, humid weather. We dimly see a hallway through
the opaque glass. We know that on the bookcase
there by the door, the cat is waiting.