Sometimes, when the light strikes at odd angles
and pulls you back into childhood
 
and you are passing a crumbling mansion
completely hidden behind old willows
 
or an empty convent guarded by hemlocks
and giant firs standing hip to hip,
 
you know again that behind that wall,
under the uncut hair of the willows
 
something secret is going on,
so marvelous and dangerous
 
that if you crawled through and saw,
you would die, or be happy forever.