Heavy fabric unknown  
Opaque and of uncertain hue
Tends to look different to me
Than it does to you

The dusty folds hang
Suspended from far above
Beyond range of vision
Rage or love

Their troughs and edges  
Collect darkness  
In the middle overlap
Like a vaginal mystery

Mostly ignored having always
Been there on the further wall
By the tables of framed pictures
Where votive candles burn

Lately tarrying there
The faces in the photographs
Seem more familiar
Than those I see

On my daily round
The curtains appear
Pictured in my mind
An uncertain color

Reminding me of
Something I cannot quite place
Familiar yet elusive
Like the Greek root of a familiar word

Confrontation with daily
Chores and frustrations
Emptiness and failure
Augments the curtains’ attraction

What do they conceal?
Ego demands
Untrustworthy voice
Long ago apprehended

Yet still one wonders
Should one open
Go through …

Curtain-like
I am drawn back
Not yet touching
The intimate fold

People enter through
Never to return  

But soon
My dear
But soon

-- Tom Rubenoff