the poem tricks our eyes
in firelight
moving shadows aside
for that long
and the Beloved is here
the Beloved is--
she is here
laughing
the poem is a morsel
and a cup
left in meadows
for Old Ones
who watch and wait
who watch and wait
for us to
see
the poem is a river stone
holding open
the door to magic
to sounds we
knew once and forgot
once we forgot
she is here
laughing
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