No  way back

Drawing a big empty square is the start,

 And inside, windows that with their curtains,

 Tied back by pink bows, look like half closed eyes.

One smaller rectangle in the middle,

 For the door, partly open, to let the air in.

Then a steep triangle set above,

 Colored, mostly inside the lines, crimson red.

The chimney, in the corner, still spits out

A swirling thin thread of gray puff.

Now the curving path that leads to the gate

With a slightly leaning back white picket fence.

I push the gate, how can I refuse to accept

Its open invitation, the white cat wraps

Around my legs, a silky scarf,

I give the swing a gentle push,

And get lost in the well-known squeak.

Some dead leaves crunch,

I am so close, so close to the open door,

I put my hand on the latch, and the door shuts tight,

How easy it was to be fooled,

To believe that there was ever a way back.