To read is to touch on another’s soul
rubbing on the corners of their thoughts,
feeling the edges of their words
until you taste, taste their substance of direction
travelling down a line of reflections
and finding a nub that they may have missed,
a hub of idea that eluded them until
brought to light by another.

It was there, all the time
hidden in folds of forgotten feelings,
lost down a tunnel of memory
that played a game but forgot its name

Now as the reader stretches out
the gaps between words,
the spaces between phrases,
the black full-stops between sentences,
the craggy cliffs between paragraphs,
a light shows through
fulfilling another’s memory,
finding another’s connections
and a subtext rises up
like a huge blue whale breaking
through the surface of the ocean
and blowing a plume of water
high into the air!

He’d never seen it,
she’d never known it
until now
and mostly won’t
as a hundred universes
meet their own.

To write, to lay your soul bare
is the greatest risk.
Words that have many many meanings,
can be missed or misconstrued:
others may put their lives on them.

But hope to be read by a kind soul
who can find your path
and understand you.