Gleaming river that flows timelessly for a while
One day, one afternoon, one hour of quiet
Only the cry of the geese, the murmur of wind in the slanted autumn light
A hawk poised on the updraft
His wing feathers tilting agains the changing sky
My heart opens just a little
Was it a knock I heard at that small door
Rusted with many regrets, many rejections
Was it a knock I heard at that small door?
No, only a branch torn loose and tapping, tapping
At the small dark door now closing, closing

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