Secret doors and hidden entrances, collectively called
a hunch of archways.
The price of admission is the cost of focused attention,
afforded by the prise of having discerning eyes.
Hunker down and cross the threshold.
The gatekeeper nodded you in and whispered, “god bless.”
Speaking softly to unseen entities,
she was pacing the bridge over the salmon ladder,
looking like little red riding hood in a scarlet dress and houndstooth coat.
A mile in the woods, gazing into the water below and becoming quite sure it was actually the sky and what she thought was the sky above was actually water.
The sky below and the pond above.
The pond does not reflect the sky.
The sky above is a giant mirror reflecting the bits of sky below
which we call water.
She feels her pupils suddenly dialate revelation of the trance state, wherein visions and dreams do come.
You were right to call it tricky.
Time flips and drips like a resinous sap down the bark of a tree’s trunk.
Slow and viscous.
Unable to be wiped away, time’s flow simply smears the surfaces.
It was as if someone had spread butter on all the fine parts of the stars,” she sang in her mind, looking at the watery sky.
And, in that moment she recalled something she once knew to be true.
She wonders, does it remain true even when I forget it is true?