It’s almost midday

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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