Sometimes my thoughts
are like lights on the water:
some calm and clear
and the others they stutter,
feathered across
the feel of the water.
Somehow my words
they just scatter them further.
I call it out.
I calm it down.
I call it out.
Sometimes my words
are like rooms long and narrow: faded in heat,
of the mind's deepest furrow.
Sorrow in soothe,
Secret in cadence,
somehow my thoughts remain
otherwise sated.
I call it out
I calm it down
I call it out
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