The birds make up my hands.
You can’t see my hands.
My hands are invisible.
But not the birds.
They have kept their feathers.
They have kept their language.
But stopped using words.
Words are all I have.
Now that the birds are gone.
Escaped into the outlines of wings.
The bone structure of silence.
You are remarkably skilled at rolling images from one into another. It’s a kind of logic beyond logic. And it’s on display beautifully here. Well done.
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Thank you. I’m really glad you like it. A logic beyond logic, that’s very interesting. I think there is….a kind of poetic logic.
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I think so, too. And I think it’s that “logic” that makes effective poetry, well, effective. It rises above sense.
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Well said. I couldn’t agree more.
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And of course, exploring that poetic logic, that’s the adventure.
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