What I'm looking for
is an unmarked door
we'll walk through
and there: whatever
we'd wished for
beyond the door.
What I'm looking for
is a golden bowl
carefully repaired
a complete world sealed
along cracked lines.
What I'm looking for
may not be there.
What you're looking for
may or may not
be me. I'm listening for
the return of that sound
I heard in the woods
just now, that silvery sound
that seemed to call
not only to me.
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