Collected Poems of John Holmes
Holmes, John A., Jr.
Up the rock-rough bottom of a narrow gorge,
Out of the darkness of forgotten dream
I climbed. The stones slipped. I was gigantic,
Head, hands, wrists three times the daytime bulk,
So at a doorway in the stony wall
Leading to light and warmth and merry sound
I could look in but could not pass. Despair,
The heaviness of loss and terror dragged
At my feet and shook my knees and belly.
And then one pointed me the shingle hung
Beside the door, the checkered circle drawn.
Go back, begin again and follow these,"
A voice said, "Missing not one, then enter
To your reward, not otherwise." I slept.