you spoke
and i listened.
looked around
from belt level
as you stitched
refracted matrices
on my patient
optic nerve;
passing along
the impulses that
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had impressed themselves
on you.
impressed enough
to make you
indent the page
with pen pressure
squeezing out
heart juice ...
was it the wine of wrath?
or sorrow?
or both and
more besides?
but you spoke well
in a hard place;
so i left with
a sense of having shared
in something which mattered...
to
someone
else.
~
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