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And it’s hard to see
The more light I have
The less I can see
For seeing is hiding in the dim light
Where details rest
I talk with the wind
This way I can be misunderstood
Or revealed – it depends on whom is listening
But it is nice to have my voice confused with air
Like whispers – sonorous
Trading secrets with the day that wants to mature
Into night
And then not see for the lack of light
But sense – the movement, the vibration
Of someone, or something,
That tries to become one
With the light
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