The Threshold
Ten logs beneath a stone-carved gate—
A path through dark, through doubt, through fate.
The woods ahead are not yet known,
Yet stepping in, you are alone.
And still the passage has been laid—
A weightless burden, half-afraid.
Again the sneeze, again the flare—
The body’s jolt, a truth laid bare.
This irritation is the toll
To break the trance and reach the soul.
A tiny blast, a cleansing wave—
The pepper’s fire, the trail it gave.
