[...] that short clinch during which
movement stops, the eye widens,
and the whole body adjusts to its
new surrounding.
With a friendly hand one still holds on to it,
before closing it decisively and shutting
oneself in – which the click of the tight
but well-oiled spring pleasantly confirms.
Kings do not touch doors.
They know nothing of this pleasure:
pushing before
one gently or brusquely one of those large
familiar panels, then turning back to
replace it – holding a door in one’s arms. †
† Francis Ponge, The Voice of Things