Words flying around the circumference of
My existence – hand extended to allow one or two
To light on the palm
Flying and falling below the edge of the line
That I write upon
Reaching above just slightly to create
An atmosphere of interest
My eye drawn against the convention
Of lines and letters and curves
I, in this growing hour
Later and more open
Where sleep unleashes
And light restricts
Here is where I sit with myself
And the other I and me with the hands
That fly across keys and words and
Touch what takes only a second t form
Until it is formed and then the fingers
Must move on
And on and on and on
Outside the window the wind taunts me
Doesn’t call me out – but instead mocks
And says ha! You see as much as you love
This freedom and what I carry
When it is too cold too cold beyond the door
To exit under the moon light
And yet deep within your heart you go
This and that
And that and that and this
Everything stops
With every plebeian self to reflect
The trinity of me oh this ridiculously verbose
Collection of curves and periods and fullstops
Is enough to remind me of one thing
There is not enough
To let loose the tongue, the fingers
The mind, the soul, the everything
To say to think to live
What must be.


Leigh-Anne Tyson


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