Some stories don’t want to be told.
They walk away, carrying their suitcasesheld together with grey string.
Look at their disappearing curved spines.
Hunchbacks. Harmed ones. Hold-alls.
Punishment – Seamus Heaney
My poor scapegoat,
I almost love you
but would have cast, I knowthe stones of silence.
Ars Poetica – Archibald MacLeish
A poem should not mean
But be. I came to explore the wreck.
The words are purposes.
The words are maps.
I came to see the damage that was done
And the treasures that prevail.
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