The caves of the wilderness open their doors
To those who walk with an open heart—
Quiet doorways behind swaying pines
Whose hinges creek in the wind,
A slit in the sandstone, buried in shadows
That opens into a small, dark world,
Like a pocket sewn into a seam of time.
If there is anywhere about this earth
The smallest of rents in the veil,
I think it must be in the deep, dark woods,
Or deep in the human soul.
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