A selection from In the Hands of the Immortal Weaver: Poems of Sacredness and Belonging
You must be a child
to find the hiding places
where the unseen ones
dwell just beyond the veil.
The logic of the adult
cannot think beyond the four walls,
—blind to the secret hatches and hidden doors
that only the curious, fearless children find.
Be one who gets down
on their hands and knees
—pushing against the walls—
never assuming that things are as they appear.