Standing at the contours of your handwritten verse –
its ink glued to the fair-skin of an earmarked page.
I take pause at first to browse, to enter it briefly.
After a while…
At length the eyes pace across each line of thought
that progressively strives to liberate a singular voice
intent on expressing some kind of imperative logic.
Little by little a raw transformation presents itself
as the stark natural state of the poet is revealed –
his rich reflection unearthed in each turn of phrase.
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