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Threshold
by Maggie Smith

You want a door you can be
on both sides of at once.

You want to be
on both sides of here

and there, now and then,
together and—(what

did we call the life
we would wish back?

The old life? The before?)
alone. But any open

space may be
a threshold, an arch

of entering and leaving.
Crossing a field, wading

through nothing
but timothy grass,

imagine yourself passing from
and into. Passing through

doorway after
doorway after doorway.

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