The image of a word
I don’t want to be a letter
I ask people not to conjure me when they speak
Not existing on a fabricated plane
With others of my kin
There is no word for me but the one I gave you now
No image that contains me but the form I show you
Except sometimes my heart lives in pictures of my own designation
Through which you can just peek at me
Pictures live inside me
I pick them as they
I can’t blame you for thinking I
can be contained
I’ve tried to fit in a jug before,
A bucket,
A bath
When I should have been in the
Growing an image
To fit the container of me


Categories: Arts The Burrow

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