THRESHOLD

The door opens to learn the new language, new every time, every time old, renewed, recycled. Behind it the dark room.
And before you enter the faint trembling, the hovering first step.
Here: not who am I but where am I? What is this here?
I am at the threshold. And inside darkness. I will need to make my way blindly, to wind my vision up to another function.
Something comes to me or am I going to it? And always trembling. I am scared to go into this other time, I don’t know what of me to leave behind and what to take along.
The passage is a rupture. What ought to break?