To open this box...
I'd more than like to know
What monsters it houses, what
Mossy, overgrown flora it grows.
Whether 'not it will
Blast me with fair, cleansing light, like
A sunrise through a painted window, or
Plunge me
Into dark waters
And run my eyes o'er with
Soaking ash and floating filament -

It's my weakness,
It calls me by a fond nickname, like
A too good friend after too long,
It knows me,
Knows I can't displace the
Imprints once they are etched
In my head

I have to uncover the rock the wrong way,
I have to
Lift it up towards me, brashly, impulsively,
And risk
The nervous snake
Right into my chest

That burning feeling,
Crackling in my breastbone,
Sets a flame and
Sends me back yet again
Scurrying into another lush, cool sanctuary
Somewhere in these woods, my temple,
In my center,
In my core.