The Brook

The key to the kingdom
of heaven was love.
Love was a fish,
slipping through the eye
of the needle, then swimming
between rocks in the brook.
No one could grasp the fish
as it flashed through the stream bottom.
I followed as I could,
balancing bare feet
on rocks of the streambed.
When I lost sight of the fish,
I put down some words on paper.
The words were a rudder;
the paper, my sail.

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