Traverse the woods, your hands clenched in fists
to rap upon air you are convinced harbors
the portal to an alternate state in which
he returns to the object of your ardor
instead of your hate. They say it exists,
some women in town, between two oak trees,
discernible by fingers and sound. It
empties the heart of its guile, all enmity.
When you walk through its invisible frame,
you are set free of the past, the weight of
wrath-riddled bones. You smile at a name
without any pain you’d once known. Only
love is admissible in this dimension.
You’ll knock forever to get there again.
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