This is called distance

I am looking at the door,
Through the door, past the door.

There is this thing between where I look.
This is called distance.

There is this thing between what walks through this door.
This is called anonymity.

There is this temperature which shifts with the motion.
This is called longing.

There is this time which passes as I look through the door.
This is called waiting.

I am waiting at the door, past the door, through the door.
Out the door, and at last,
I turn and close the door.