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Poem

At the farthest end of the corridor
A door opens.

Light skids down the floor
Like skaters exploding a silent slope.

Words vanish to open a void,
I wait…

The strains of a poem
Trip lightly in.

***

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Comments


  • MargaretG
    November 16, 2008

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    This is the moment of creation, the thought is insubstantial, but words give it flesh. I like the image of the second stanza - it makes a picture of reflections from smooth surfaces. I like the metaphors very much.