Where there is no door

I think I am awake but the logic
of how I got in escapes me. Perhaps
this is one of those moments of wakefulness

that eludes wakefulness, the time of day
as irrelevant as what I'm not wearing. Either way
it takes time to locate the lightswitch and

feel my way across the floor. I can't remember
where I left myself, or my shoes, and dread
the trip that reveals them, but no.

It is the door I miss the most; its easy use
and reliability. I check for the logic of it,
but find the whole room wanting

in no other way but this: escape.