I visit it often in dreams.
That cabin. Beneath a majestic pine,
moon crowned,
its chimney exhaling the breath
of smoldering logs.
A welcoming breeze an enticement.

Out of the trees,
a man appears. Someone familiar.
Without a key or knock,
the door opens to swallow him.
No lit lamp
answers the questioning moon.

As if absorbed, whoever
goes in, remains. One day I know
I’ll be tempted to follow.
Curiosity smolders like those logs.
I keep vigil until
clouds hush the moon’s spotlight.


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