A slip, a tricky twist of the ankle,
Somehow this odd awkward angle
Halfway into a fall
Offers an interesting view
Reveals things hidden
From a default height of looking
And thus, there, between the branches
Crisscrossing to form a star
A shadowed path that
From standing upright only seemed
A dead-end.
So I approach, on elbows
And knees, dragging a throbbing left leg,
I touch the threshold
With nervous fingertips.
A soft wind meets my hand, scented with spring.
I feel a grip around my heart
Like an invisible hand or
The memory of a song,
Like a warning,
Like an invitation.
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