Slumbering, sneaking into my mind: words
to express thoughts
in anxious hiding,
in the labyrinth
of the forgotten and the gone.
In between them stand
the blanks, the gaps, the spaces,
shouting out the truth, speaking
in their strictly measured room
of what words are not made for.
When I wrote in ink, I could not
keep the distance that I needed.
My words were filling gaps
to ease the mind wrongly.
I know my place now; so do they.