with words like doves
I would’ve broken through
the blue,
that blue
of a high blank want,
of a you and an i
in verse forgotten;
would i have voiced the wingspan
of the unspoken
for the release
into understanding,
into light –
lovelier and lighter
than song
but my words sit cluttered
and cold, the coo of their breast
clenched between letter
and line,
and i
end up with something resembling
almost flight, almost poem













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133 old applause
