she needed both
and on top of that—everything
and running through it all
like a thread—nothing
it was the thing of her
a part of the bones of her
some people called it by name
but she knew it to be wordless
now:
if she took a razor blade
and maybe a thousand years
she could gently remove that gray thread
from the skeleton of her Self
underneath she wondered silently
if removing nothing was removing anything
but such surgeries done carefully
leave someone else on the other side
someone who uses words
and needs something
like leaves moving beyond the window
to believe that the wind is blowing
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