Monday, April 4, 2011


Where these words
Come from
I do not know
They do not say
What I mean
And what I say
Is not what I meant
Yet, once they leave my hands
They change shape
As if touched by magic
The crows turn
Into kuyils
The duckling
Becomes a swan
The sleeping child
Wakes with a smile
And describes the gods
It has seen
Before it feels the pangs
Of hunger and howls for milk.

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