The lines on paper
tell the fiction of words.
I can not restrict the shadows
of their symbols no more than I
can take away my birth.
There are colors that deepen
with syllables, and shades
that fade with tense -
I could take away their lineaments,
but even empty branches wait
for a cipher to name its home.
I will hold them
that they may slip away -
press them to a sheet
that they may disappear.
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