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)