Fixing a door

Recalling blue lights flashing
I sandpaper your plaster and wood
returning to health your leper’s skin
as if repairing you could make things good.
You were the protector of this house
your scars are an accurate record
of each choatic entrance and egress –
they are a route map of discord.
I will scrape and polish the front door
as if smoothing out each impression
will reestablish a sense order
hoping to restore harmony within
and to rehabilitate a failed guardian.
You kept danger out - or held it in