What Is This Place
If it will shelter you,
you can trust it
for tonight, at least.
If it offers you
its open hands, joined
to make a shelf,
you can rest here, wait
here for an hour.
If it the only thing it has
for you is a cauldron
of fire, or the serrated edge
of a precipice, or
acres of wild waters, then
you must keep
moving, even if you, I’m
sorry, love it.
This poem gives me a feeling of unease, of a child traveler perhaps, or a world weary adult after an apocalypse, seeking shelter, ever wary,coming upon majesty or beauty that will give no refuge.
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