ÿþ<html> <head> <title>Whistling Shade</title> </head> <body bgcolor = dddddd body text = 557755 link=white vlink=white> <center> <table> <tr> <td align = left> <IMG SRC = "../graphics/header.gif"> <hr> </td> </TR> </table> <p><p> <table> <tr> <td align = left width = 100><img src = "../graphics/flower.gif"></td> <td> <Center> <H2>Instructions for Opening a Door</H2> <i>by Ian Randall Wilson </i> </Center> <pre> <font face = "arial"> Confrontation is always at issue. The foot not a leader, the hand a wagon to a world on the other side. I question my assumptions: Is Latin like a tunnel, Russian speech a car in flight? Does a scattered alphabet vault the sky? Honey, I'm home becomes a not so secret message of my dissipation. The Beloved once gone does not look back. I am prepared to lick the lintels if it makes it easier to get inside, to rush past the salt pillars of those who turned. I rap my knuckles three times on the wood of my raised panels. In the year of my isolation I have forgotten if I'm leaving or staying either way, I'm asking to come home. © 2002 <a href = "../writers.html#wilson">by Ian Randall Wilson.</a> All rights reserved. </font></pre> <a href = "../0201.html">Home</a> </td> <td align = right width = 100><img src = "../graphics/flower2.gif"></td> </tr> </table> </body> </html>