Voices weave

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Voices weave beautiful languages, Tangle up in white cords that Drip from my ears, Never really replacing reality. I am a pair of eyes, Drifting. The sun bakes me Confining my form in this Halfway-place An immutable figure Somehow shifting With the easeful grace Of water freezing, melting Becoming gas. A statue reinterpreted Through a thousand eyes. I inhabit the pores of this place Where I belong, And yet Where I am always new. The wind ripples through the grass. I go with it. Content to be the memory, The face unknowingly caught To be mused over Or ignored. Content to be the trees. A feature of this place Belonging to it, or not, As your imagination prescribes. I am whoever you make me Nameless girl.





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