There was something I was thinking
in the shadows between
words that flowed from my pen,
it was like a photo
and a negative, but in
those shadowed silences
all the truth of my life,
and life, was hidden,
went moving
from tree to tree, hiding
behind trunks in a thick forest,
and I continued to scrawl
the vine of words onto the page,
wondering how to flush out
and capture what welled up
in what I was not saying,
could not yet say.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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