Wednesday, 27 June 2012

To The Reader

It seems to me
I am a collection of pebbles cupped
in this basket-flesh.
Words fall through me, find gaps
between who I am and might be,
illuminate truth and fact;
trickle onto the page
to travel
wherever they may.
You, too, are a collection
of pebbles cupped
by your own basket-flesh.
My words slide
into the spaces between you;
trickle down
until we meet in a dark
and nurturing silent expanse
only some words understand.

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