within
the silent rooms
where we weep
tracing our fingers
our toes in the deep
finding the form
inch by inch
cautiously
touching
the rough boards
beneath
the light switch
too far
the blanket
too warm
our eyes
turned inward
avoiding
the scars
when finally
when firmly
we the distant
door reach
in our dreams
in cool streams
may we sleep.
when we cannot read
we must listen
not yearn to write
but learn to sing.
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