it was raining this morning
the sort of slow, gentle soaker
that requires windshield wipers and raincoats
and encourages the grass to green
but when i left the office in the blueing evening
only one lonely puddle remained
in the empty parking lot
as i walked toward my car i caught
a glimpse of tree trunk reflected on the water
and i caught my breath
as branches appeared like roots turned skyward
i remembered a magical place from childhood
where pools in the wood made way
for other worlds, worlds collapsing
or waking up the very first morning
then i saw, before all this,
another wood between the worlds
a narrow blood-stained path pierced with nails
bridging the chasm between death and dawn —
only this magic was a tale told true
