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The Words I Cannot Write

I want so much to spurt out this garbage from the middle of my belly.
I want to write what I feel but it’s not the right time.
It doesn’t feel right.

All the signals are wrong and I’m left beside myself, throwing my arms up in the air.

I was driving on the side roads, the back roads like I usually do and there was this little blue bird on the pavement of the highway that immediately took flight. I just shook my head, blew air through my nose and felt the water at the edge of my eyes.

Oh well…I’ll just keep driving.
I’ll end up somewhere.
And I listen to the engine and hear your voice.

And then I look at the treeline and keep going with a part of you with me,

Matthew R. Polkinghorne

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