Dark in the mind’s corners,
this shadow is God’s ink
waiting for the quill you bring.
Take a dip in the obfuscation
and write what you don’t know.

If you put our heads in the fire
the slick of our fears catches,
and burns baggage for light.
What a gift is brief illumination,
the better to see our pages.

It’s good not to squint anymore
when we scribble along the trail.
We gutter and flicker in our winds,
to make figures dance on other walls.
Someday one of us will be real.

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