Soft layers scribed over
erasures, poorly scraped;
a velum saved for use
as if it were a silence,
independent of any thought,
original, and never spoken;
emerging fully formed,
like Athena, into the world:
I am my own metaphor,
a translation stuttered
from a transparent other
which I will never know.
My words hover over words,
like mist over a graveyard.
(December 11, 2021)
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