Hallway landscape

Behind the doors are the halls.

We know this and we believe it, behind the doors, the open throats

to the outside, to the twelve green carts

abandoned and, we say, distraught,

frozen mid-roam,

to the woman reading the mail with her feet in the leaves

and the dirt

under and around the picnic table.

The structure and the opening.

And between the doors and the hallways,

between the here and there,

are mailboxes. One hundred forty four boxes, names reversed

and lined

in a way we’ve never seen ourselves,

or so we say

Absorbed,

and then set gentle—

toe and then heel in the hall.