The Capacity

by Lisa Santos

So the thoughts have their debates

and the feelings of gray

and red

overlap in oddities and perplexing

shades

 

I recall only the branches of my brain

in few syllables if not words

that seem to make sense

on leaves in Autumn

 

So out of the bucket I grab

in the deep

and whatever does not glide and slip away

from my grasp

gets recognition on glass pages

 

Some parts of me, reflected dimly,

tell of tales as each truth

a glimpse of a full lighted sky

 

And these are the things

that are in me

 

Things of words on top of mountains

with flowers of letters grown from the earth of pain

my capacity to grow in bigger words

and deeper meanings

 

It’s a wonder of

buried

and forgotten things

 

 

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