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Poetry

the forest will have broken open
its green gates to allow me in

and I’ll walk through the undergrowth
as easily as if there had been a path there

though there is nothing but bramble,
briar, the scratching blackberry canes

how long, I wonder, have you been waiting?

I will not know you are there but will walk quietly
expectantly in the direction of some secret voice

a voice I trust although I don’t know
where it comes from or how it enters my hearing

when I meet you for the first time you will
step out shielded in light

surrounded by the cries of birds
and the harsh barks of foxes

what will be the sound of your voice I wonder
and how will I come to understand you

when I meet you
when I meet you for the first time


The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.

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