Poetry About First Time

My hands knew nothing and reached anyway. The door looked heavier before it opened. Every sound arrived without a familiar name. I made the small mistakes no map can prevent. Then fear stepped back exactly one pace. The first time became a road the second could follow.

The door looked heavier before it opened. Beginnings ask for movement before certainty. I made the small mistakes no map can prevent. Even first Time keeps more than one meaning in view. What feels impossible becomes a remembered doorway.

My hands knew nothing and reached anyway. Time carries the image beyond its first appearance. Every sound arrived without a familiar name. Then fear stepped back exactly one pace. What feels impossible becomes a remembered doorway. The first time became a road the second could follow.