It’s messy but should be simple.
I can’t say when it began
or why. I sort of know how.
We both know what it is.
But I don’t question some things.
That comes from experience
and finding knowing less can be better.
It allows more room for magic.
I will read you a poem I like soon
and I wonder if you’ll be able to hear
how I feel between words
that are not mine.
This is as simple as the night fractal,
when moonlight ruffles a sleepy tree
or morning sun nudges a furled fern.
And it sounds like a groaning cello.
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