the very thing that lets us in
so often locks us out
sly door on a nimble hinge
knows naught what it's about
once dreaming in the sunlight
now trembles in the dark
sinking like an afterthought
up-winging like the lark
a spark that is so often quenched
now kindles bright in rain
a treasure hid beneath the hull
now gleams upon the main
and we who wield, bestow, and tell
a tale we do not ken
so often must fall down this well
to rise up once again...
lucy meskill
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