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Gate

Rose—petal paint flaking,
On a small iron wrought gate,
In a length of wall.
 
But for creepers,
And crawlers and
Plates of fallen paint and plaster
It is unseen.
 
Little white flowers sitting
Bees buzzing, heat drying
The wet from the puddles.
 
Silence interrupted
The gate hinges creaking
I am walking
Into the garden.
 
There
A house standing
Crowned in skyward sunlit space
There
A beeline journey to
A threshold
Presenting
 
One just crossed
Would I not try another?
Dew moistening
My feet placing
My steps pacing
My heart racing
The door opening
My hand
 
Held.

(2010)

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