Tuesday, 28 February 2012

Waving and Watching Her Go.

The language of poetry has always been a foreign one to me. I have difficulty even reading much of it, and I certainly can’t write it. It’s why I respond so positively when Shayna speaks my accustomed language, but translates it into Poem.

This is a shame, because there’s a poem sitting just to the left of my breast bone that wants to be written. I wish I could oblige, but I can’t.

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